#trigger warning SA

[brownwomanisland]

I want to know who else is out there has an issue with speaking up?

When I was 12, I told a friend who I knew would tell my parents that my brother was molesting me. When we finally met, I realized that they spoke to him first and he was their golden child and whatever he said, I echoed because I was terrified. My mother is still a boy mom and my dad is a fucking loser.

When I was 14, I told a teacher. They told my mom. My mom told her friend who decided to ask me, what i didn't realize at the time, leading questions about me being gay (open secret). He decided that my lesbian experience was what I was talking about and not the escalating molestation from my brother.

My father blamed me for who I told, said it was my crush on the teacher. My mother called me a liar for months. Would shout at me in the hallway at home. Would wake me up at night to talk to me about myself, threatening to beat me. That went on for months until I stayed with my uncle briefly. It didn't improve when I came back home. Nobody did anything to protect me. They ripped up my police report. Stopped my psychologist visits. Pressured me to talk to my brother.

I was already cutting myself to deal with the fact that this was happening and nobody took my anger at my brother seriously. This boy used me as his own personal sex toy for years and ... started again or tried to start again when I was home from university. I don't know. Everybody I'm blood related to is a fucking poison in this world. Who's not a menace is a fucking coward.

There's so much to say and even though none of you know me, I still feel terrified that speaking up in anyway will ruin my life. I always wrote in my journal. I found out after my mother put me out that she went through it, deemed it all lies. I only started back writing comfortably in 2021 ish.

I wish I lived a different life almost everyday because I have to live every year seeing all my dreams be deferred. Sometimes I wish I did kill myself so I wouldn't have to deal with knowing that what I dream of may never come.

So yeah I panicked and deleted that other post because one of you assholes said I let my father treat me that way. But also, it is so so so so difficult to speak up. I live alone now and I have to practice EVERYTHING with EVERYONE so that I make sure I am safe. I work very hard to make sure every step I take will hopefully bring me closer to the life I deserve.

Don't let being online and being angry make you treat your sisters like trash. We're all fucking going through it. Our traumas probably look like intersecting venn diagrams.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly. 

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s  three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water. 

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?” 

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive. 

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness. 

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout. 

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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@badthingshappenbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square O2: therapy session

@marvel-smash-bingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky

square I1: enemies to lovers

@sebastianstanbingo

card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B5: Love triangle

@ultimatechrisbingo

card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B3: Inconvenient attraction

[crimsonsoulpower]

Hindi is my mother tongue and it's great I get to see a brown vampire in a kind of mainstream TV show that has such a passionate fanbase and critical acclaim.

That being said, people got to stop calling Arun (अरुण) his slave name. It's not that, it's something his parents named him.

But also I do not get people saying he has happy memories attached to it. The show has a habit of making people worse than they are in books so they changed the plot point to make it that his parents sold him to slavery. So yeah, he was likely called that name in the brothel. Same place where the abuse was so severe that's what he thinks his birth name is. I get people wanting positive happy connotations with it but that's not the story they told us on TV. I cannot picture him having any happy attachment to something he isn't even sure is his name because of the horrid abuse he suffered.

In short, it's NOT a slave name but also please stop insisting he has happy attachments/memories to it when the show hasn't shown any.

[episodicnostalgia]

Star Trek, 105 (Oct. 6, 1966) - “The Enemy Within” [Production order #05]

Written by: Richard Matheson Directed by: Leo Penn [TRIGGER WARNING: Some discussion of attempted SA is necessarily touched upon in my review of this episode.]

This is the Episode Where…

The time-honoured tradition of transporter accidents begins! Kirk is split into two versions of himself, one positive, the other negative. Naturally the good Kirk is an intelligent-but-emotionally-timid-cuck, and the evil Kirk is a raging psychopath sex-crazed-bad-boy. Along the way, Spock imparts his hilariously troubling views about the human psyche.

The Breakdown

The crux of this episode’s conflict stems from two key talking points, so let’s start with the transporter B-Plot, before we tackle the significantly more problematic A-Plot.

Let the transporter shenanigans begin: The Enterprise crew are surveying one of the many styrofoam-desert-planets scattered across the alpha quadrant, when their geologist sustains an injury from a rockslide that subsequently covers him with a yellow powdered-ore that fucks up the transporters after he gets beamed to the ship for medical treatment. Shortly thereafter, Kirk also beams back up, but he arrives with some dizziness and a somewhat lethargic demeanor. Since even the slightest frailty is so unlike the incredible specimen-that-is-Kirk, Scotty escorts him into the corridor (leaving the room unattended), when the transporter pad fires up again on it’s own, and spits out a second kirk; except this one is FUCKING INSANE!

While the Good-Kirk/Bad-Kirk debacle carries on over in the A-Plot, Scotty is hard at work establishing his reputation as a miracle worker. You see, after Kirk’s literal-split personality disorder starts up, the survey team (now led by Sulu) sends up an indigenous alien unicorn-dog they found (essentially just a normal dog in a cute little horned onesie), which also splits into calm-v-rabid duplicates. Scotty quickly figures out that the yellow ore is the problem, meaning that until he can fix it, he doesn’t dare beam anyone else back up without risking a transpo-splitting fiasco, leaving the landing party stranded. The problem is that night is fast approaching down on styro-firma, where the temperatures drop well below freezing as the sun goes down, meaning poor Scotty’s working against the clock. Classic!

Now, thankfully Scotty whips up a way to reverse the splitting process on the unicorn-dog, but the shock of being re-merged into one pup tragically kills it. Naturally, Spock recklessly proposes that the two Kirks give the transporters a whirl next, despite the risks, because the story needs to keep moving. And speaking of the two Kirks, lets switch over to the A-plot!

Seeing Double: Yeah, so Kirk gets split in two. Here’s the basic expository low-down from Spock’s own mouth; Good-Kirk is compassionate and intelligent, and Bad-Kirk rageful and willful. This means (according to some incredibly tenuous logic) that while the good Kirk is more pleasant, his ability to take decisive action is significantly diminished, compromising his ability to command. Likewise, Bad-Kirk is capable of making decisions very quickly, but he’s a sexual predator, so… ‘nuff said.

Oh, and in case you thought I was exaggerating, Bad-Kirk’s first impulse is legitimately to straight up enter his Yeoman’s (Janice Rand’s) quarters and force himself on her. Thankfully she manages to call for help before things become tragic, but not before getting deeply uncomfortable to watch. Naturally everyone doubts her story about Kirk’s attempted assault (because that’s so implausible…), but after Scotty fills them in about the unicorn-dog, Spock figures out what’s going on.

The rest of the episode carries on with the standard cat-and-mouse hijinks one might expect from an episode like this, as Bad-Kirk lunges around like a cocaine fueled maniac, and Good-Kirk essentially does what ever Spock suggests. Of course, it’s all made unnecessarily complicated by the fact that none of the crew are aware of the situation, since filling them in (according to some more impeccable logic by Spock) would cause the crew to doubt their captain. You see, Captains aren’t allowed the luxury of weakness, and anything short of absolute perfection would compromise Kirk’s rank and status… which is to be protected at all costs, apparently. Consequently, this upkeep of deception stretches out the episode’s runtime until the last few minutes, at which point Spock and co. corral the two Kirk’s into the transporter to be rejoined, which works perfectly.

Oh yeah, and Sulu’s landing party gets to come home now too, so it all works out!

The Verdict

I’m not going to waste time explaining how the pop psychology of a nearly-60-year-old show is wildly flawed. Obviously the will to act is no more inherently tied to our rage and carnal desires, than intelligence is inherently tied to compassion and emotional frailty. The show needed an excuse to pit Kirk against himself, and the writers used their limited understanding of a medical field that was still in its infancy. The various assertions this episode makes about masculinity and psychology, is clearly tied to biases that would have been remarkably common for that era, to the point where I’d have been genuinely surprised if it wasn’t prevalent throughout the series. Some of Spock’s advice sounds not unlike something that Roger from ‘Mad Men’ might say, while downing an old fashioned and ogling his secretary; it’s so brazenly wrong that I can’t help but find it funny.

Which brings us to Janice.

After escaping Kirk’s attack, Janice heads straight to Sickbay, which is a good call. Using all of his tact and consideration as a medical professional, McCoy (with Spock) responds by summoning her alleged attacker while she’s still in the room. It’s obviously the good Kirk that arrives, but at this point no one is aware there’s two of them, and that’s when things start to get… icky. For starters, there is a distinct undercurrent within the scene that Kirk's reputation, and the preserving of it, is a higher priority than Janice's wellbeing. Even though she's visibly shaken, and disheveled, the three men all stand over her domineeringly as Kirk tests her stories for inconsistencies. Janice goes on to explain that normally she wouldn’t have resisted (he is the captain after all), but that she was just so surprised. Oh yeah, and there's also the fact that he was harming her that she didn’t care for either. Thankfully a crewmember with a penis, who actually witnessed the event (Bad-Kirk bludgeoned him for intervening), is able to set the record straight that someone with Kirk’s face definitely did attack her. With that cleared up, everyone quickly moves on because Janice’s trauma no longer drives the plot forward.

But the real kicker is in the final scene. With Kirk restored, Janice let’s him know that he’s off the hook, given the circumstances. It’s certainly not like he owes her a profuse apology for the 50% of him that evidently wants to take-and-possess her like an object, right? Because I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that Spock and McCoy each hold to the principle that both Kirks are equally necessary parts of his collective psyche. So, while Kirk “innocently” carries on with his captaining, Spock leans over to Janice and playfully insinuates that she probably kinda liked the attention Bad-Kirk gave her. Isn’t that neat? [Haha! The world is a nightmare.] Janice simply responds with a glowering look, which normally I would assume is her politely telling Spock to get Pon Farred. Unfortunately, context clues bring me to infer that she’s conveying embarrassment, indicating that Spock is meant to be partially correct, according to whoever wrote/signed off on this poorly conceived scene (official credit goes to Richard Matheson, but I’m not letting Gene Roddenberry off the hook either).

Again, I’m not surprised by the troubling views being expressed here, but in the case of Janice’s role within this story, it goes beyond what I can ignore. Barring that particular topic, I won’t deny the rest of the episode is otherwise somewhat entertaining, in a predominantly cringy sort of way. There are also some creative elements at play that would go on to become franchise staples, the most notable being ‘the transporter accident’ trope. I likely would have given this something closer to a 3 star rating if it didn’t take such a glib stance on sexual assault, but the excuse that this was a ‘product of it’s time’ doesn’t count towards a pass either.

1.5 stars (out of 5)

Parting Thoughts

Even a broken clock…: One thing I do agree with, is that fear is often the driving force behind anger. At one point, McCoy points out that while Good-Kirk is highly emotional and regularly distraught, he’s not ever overwhelmed by fear, conversely the Bad-Kirk regularly is. I suppose this is where I’ll admit that there is some credence behind the idea that if you simply remove one part of yourself, even a negative part, that it would likely impact the parts of you that are positive, to the extent that it may even change you fundamentally. What I disagree with is the idea that sexual desire is innately tied to compulsive behaviors beyond our control, at least insofar as it is depicted in this episode, written by a team of creatives that clearly held some inherently misogynistic biases.

Pacifist Vulcan Violence: In addition to transporter shenanigans, this episode also introduces us to the ‘Vulcan nerve pinch.’ The story goes that Leonard Nimoy felt brute force would be uncharacteristic of an advanced progressive anti-emotion society, and offered the now-famous nerve pinch as an alternative. I find it interesting, because the moment barely registers today, since that move is such a casually iconic staple of the franchise. But I can only imagine this would have been such a novel concept when it first aired, especially for younger viewers.

The unicorn-dog is dead, Jim: I believe this might also be the show’s first use (according to production order) of McCoy’s famous line, “He’s dead, Jim.” Fitting that it was for a dog, the universal best friend of humankind, be it horned or otherwise. Good boy unicorn-dog. Good boy.

Medical Binge Drinking: So, I guess McCoy has a liquor cabinet in sickbay. Immediately after Bad-Kirk emerges, he heads straight for sickbay and demands a drink. He even goes so far as to shake McCoy until he surrenders an entire bottle of booze, and then proceeds to chug it like a frat-boy on a bender, stumbling down a corridor. I realize drinking on the job was more socially acceptable in the 60’s, but it does seem odd that a doctor would have enough drinking alcohol to stock a small bar, for the purpose of serving it to patients. I guess the 23rd century is so progressive that my feeble 21st century mind just wouldn’t understand. Yeah, that must be it.

[anetherealpoetess]

the trans community must be so tired. not only do they have to deal with violent discrimination from conservative communities, but now they also have to deal with so-called liberal communities using them in deranged conspiracy theories as human shield-props to defend abusive white man neil gaiman

[peppertaemint]

The JonBenét Ramsay documentary on Netflix tries its best to be balanced, but it still left out a lot of evidentiary details that support the theory of an intruder being the culprit.

The Ramsays did not have a secure home. It was known that 30 keys to their house had been given out to different parties, and on the night of the crime, there were multiple unsecured ways to enter the house. This plus the details of the mild sophistication of the knots of her restraints and the SA make it much more likely that a child predator, who has engaged in this behavior before, carried out the murder. And my understanding of the Ramsay indictment is that it pertained to their failure to provide JonBenét safety, which, well, seems fair.

If you're interested in the case I recommend the podcast The Consult, which is a round table of FBI criminal profilers who look at victimology and evidence to put a profile of the perpetrator together. These episodes are not for the faint of heart though so use your best judgment.

[todomemolesta18]

Blitzo and angel dust what they have in common the main one they are victim who's not only imperfect but also lashing out. Then they also have bigotry angel dust with sexism and racism blitzo with ableism and sexism. This portrayal is valid because bigotry can be happen to anyone whether they are horrible or kind people

Blitzo yes he is horrible but saying he deserved what he went through is just evil and slap to the face to people who suffer from this. You can hate blitzo while also understood that thing he suffer is not ok beside stolas, loona is also guilty too.

So i decided to give scenario if blitzo report or talk the SA he endured

A lot demon victim blamed him and most don't believe he got raped. He's behavior who talk about sex and sexual behavior make them think blitzo doing this for attention. The ars goetia will do anything to silence blitzo giving hush money sure, sending threat sure, tarnish he's reputation even better for them. Despite he's treatment toward moxxie, moxxie believe in him. Everywhere blitzo go he get mocked by a lot demon they even threatening to kill him so blitzo fight back and he felt very hopeless

I hate how much they victim blame Blitzo. I dislike him, yes, but he doesnt deserve to be SA. I like what you wrote, is really good ✨

[emoenbie]

...LA Olympics choosing Red Hot Chili Peppers for their opening song... when lead singer Anthony Kiedis has a long history of SA including a 14 year old victim he boasted about... unsurprising after letting a convicted child r*pist compete in the Paris Olympics...

[amateur-scribbler]

I want to scream until my throat bleeds, a soul crushing scream that would scare birds from their trees.

That scream will echo with all the numbing pain I feel, whenever I think of how I lost the light in my eyes on the night I learnt what any man could so easily steal.

He knows every sickening moment of that night, he heard every one of my hiccuped cries, and with every painfully slow second, I realised it wasn’t just his hands that gripped my throat tight.

My tears melded with the mantra of pleads for it to stop, the choked words were met by deaf ears and my deep fear; a reception that made my heart drop.

The cold hands kept grabbing at the skin he’d decided he was owed, to these cries his conscience was immune, the entitlement to every curve etched in his frenzied eyes showed.

The sounds of the ocean were so close, she called to me, her pained cries crashed onto the shores that were strewn with stone.

I lost myself in the shell my body became, not my own and certainly not something I could bring myself to call home.

His hands and lips had taken their claim, but here I am, in these bones racked with rotting shame, I remain.

He left no trail of blackened bruises or deep scratches in my skin but, I see it so clearly, scars etched in my every fibre; his hands have left a trail of welting burns and this pain will continue to burn like an all consuming wildfire.

Years have passed but those hands, so calloused and cruel, gave life to a twisted dark bitterness that, with time, only grew.

His hands aren’t yours yet your touch will make my skin crawl, please know it’s because I carry his sins entrenched in my every limb; the pain whispers “this body is not yours, not anymore”.

This shame washes over me, it’s a layer of grime I’ll never clean, caked like dried mud that only I will ever see.

I’m the monster Frankenstein didn’t mean to create, and I hope my cries follow him leaving him entrenched in guilt until he lies lonely in his grave.

I hope when he cleanses his skin, the water is tied to my tears and makes him remember that I’ll haunt him until he scratches out his eyes to stop the memories of every woman he ever made feel this sacred kind of fear.

how the ocean finds her sirens - t.k.o

[spider-stark]

happy birthday and congrats on being noticed by kieran and ryan!!! <3

any thoughts on the episode ?

thank you so much!!🫶🖤 definitely an incredible birthday haha

as far as my thoughts on last nights episode, they honestly all begin and end with---fuck Daemon Targaryen and fuck Willem Blackwood.

the Blackwoods jumping at an opportunity to wreak destruction upon the Septs makes perfect sense considering their belief that the Brackens were responsible for poisoning the weirwood at Raventree. having them rape and murder children tho???

nothing about that makes any sense to me, especially considering Willem Blackwood seemed to think highly of Rhaenyra and hold a lot of respect for her. it also seems stupid to think the Brackens would just sort of... take that? I mean, they had Amos Bracken basically stare a dragon in the eyes and accept death---why would raping and murdering innocent women and children not just make him fight against the cause of Daemon Targaryen even harder??

idk. I feel like this is probably the reason why we haven't seen Black Aly--because the writers knew if they had her acting in Benji's stead then they wouldn't be able to twist it to where she would actually order such atrocities; especially on behalf of someone as fucked as Daemon Targaryen.

with all of that being said, was super happy that they're giving Jace a little screen time lmao. glad the writers might actually explore how intelligent his character, especially when it comes to political matters.

how about you? what were your thoughts on everything?

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 2637

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

7. Strawberry Cream Puffs

Mary

Mary doesn’t realize what she’s hearing at first. If she did, she’d hightail it right back out the front door, phone be damned. But the sound of Bucky and Steve talking is muffled and indistinct from the distance of their bedroom, and Mary hurries around the apartment, checking for her phone by the coffee maker in the kitchen and then in the couch cushions after that. “Fucking fuck,” she hisses, annoyed. She doesn’t have time for this! She has to get back to work.

It’s only when she walks down the hall to check in her bedroom and is passing the door to Bucky and Steve’s room that she figures it out.

"Bucky!"

"That’s it, Princess, just like that. You’re almost there."

Mary freezes, whole body tensing as she realizes that Bucky and Steve are not just “talking.” Her face flushes, arousal swirling hard and sudden in her core at the sounds.

“Fuck, fuck … unhshit."

That’s Steve moaning. He sounds totally gone for whatever Bucky’s doing to him (God, Mary wishes she could see what Bucky’s doing to him). Against all common decency, she takes a step closer, putting her ear millimeters from the door. She can hear their heavy breathing, can hear the wet sounds of them fucking. Steve is making all sorts of obscene sounds, and Bucky’s talking to him, encouraging him in a dark, goading voice that Mary’s only ever heard the barest hint of.

"Ride Daddy’s hand, thaat’s it. Fuck back on it. Good girl."

Oh. my. god. Mary’s eyes go wide and her panties are suddenly, horribly wet. She forces herself to step away, then hears Steve wailing and grunting like he’s coming. Maybe he is, she doesn’t stay to find out.

Her face is flaming hot as she hurries into her room. And of-fucking-course: there’s her phone, still sitting plugged into the nightstand. She scowls at it, as if it’s the phone’s fault that she’s just witnessed what she has.

Wet panties don’t feel great, so she shucks her leggings off and changes, then grabs her phone and cautiously makes her way back out into the hall. Bucky and Steve are still in their room—she can hear them talking in there (this time only talking). But Mary knows they both have freakishly good hearing, so she’s dreadfully careful as she sneaks back out of the apartment. If they catch her now, the jig’ll be up. There’s no way in hell Bucky won’t take one look at her face and know. Then he’ll tell Steve, of course, because those two freaking live in each other’s skin. And then Mary’ll have to face them every day with the common knowledge between the three of them that she knows Bucky calls Steve a “good girl” in bed.

She makes it out of the apartment unnoticed, goes back to work, and spends most of her shift in a distracted daze, messing up more than one coffee order as she contemplates why she finds it so hot.

Bucky

It’s the weekend, so after Bucky’s done “teaching” his husband in bed that morning, they both get dressed and head out for their usual Saturday routine of going to the gym together.

Bucky’s not as obsessed with lifting as Steve is, so he finishes first and sits by the overpriced juice bar, entertaining himself with a little sample cup of some green apple-kale concoction and the view of his sweaty husband’s backside as he does weighted squats. “Looking good, Cap!” he calls out, loud enough for Steve to hear. Steve shoots him a peevish glance from across the way, which Bucky knows means Shut the fuck up. You’re so embarrassing. Bucky snickers and brings his green juice up for another sip.

“Been discharged for over a decade and you’re still using that,” Steve grumps at him when he’s finished and they’re walking out of the gym.

Bucky hums and kisses him on the cheek. “It suits you.” They join hands and start off down the sidewalk. Their Saturday morning routine is to get coffee after a workout—Bucky’s iced, Steve’s with whatever horrifically sugary additives he can think up. “My baby made Captain at twenty-five. That’s fucking hot.” He sees Steve’s blush and feels accomplished. “Plus, I know you like it.”

“Don’t hear me calling you Sergeant.”

“That’s cause I’m higher rank than you and you know it,” Bucky quips, and the two of them share a saucy grin that kind of makes Bucky want to shove Steve up against the nearest building and “teach” him something else. He refrains. “Have you told her we served?” he asks, referring to Mary. He’s steering them in the direction of the café where she works, rather than their usual place, and he’s sure Steve notices.

“No. But we haven’t gotten much into the details about anything.” Steve’s tone is slightly disapproving. “You let her avoid us with too much streaming."

Steve’s not wrong. They are halfway through the third season of Game of Thrones. Bucky squeezes Steve’s right hand with his left, indicating the metal arm. “She hasn’t asked about this.”

“S’probably just trying to be polite.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Bucky’s arm is StarkTech, so even though he’s a veteran with an amputation, he doesn’t come off that way to strangers at first glance. He gets passed over for the usual silent deference. And when people do clock the arm, he’s more likely to get stares and questions, rather than pity. He’s noticed Mary looking a few times, but she hasn’t said anything.

“You’re in long sleeves all the time, Babe,” Steve says. “She’ll ask when the weather warms up, I bet.”

“Yeah.” Bucky remembers why he likes winter so much. “… You think she’ll be with us that long?”

Steve looks over at him. “Honestly? Yeah. I do. She’s got a lot of issues, Buck. Have you noticed her eating habits?”

Bucky frowns. “I mean, she’s picky …”

“She restricts,” Steve corrects. “Her counselor called the other day and recommended we file a petition to extend the custody order.”

“Really? We’re not even halfway through it yet.”

“I know.” Steve twists his lips unhappily, looking down at the pavement as the walk. “Linda said we should try and talk to her about it now, rather than later. Try and frame it in a positive way.”

Bucky scoffs. “She’s gonna throw a fit!” (She does about most things.) “It’d be better if you or Linda brought it up,” he grumbles. “She hates me.”

“Hey.” Steve stops walking, stilling Bucky with a hand to his shoulder. “Hey. She does not. She’s just reacting to you cause you don’t pull any punches. I mean imagine how scary it must be, what we’re asking of her.”

Bucky frowns as he thinks about it. “I guess.”

“We bring her in, telling her she’s an incapable mess and that her life’s a shambles, and then she’s supposed to just one hundred percent trust us?”

"Well when you put it like that,” Bucky grumps. Not like they haven’t been doing absolutely everything in their power to show this woman that they’re not pervert serial killers, or whatever.

“Plus, she’s embarrassed about it. About what she needs.”

Bucky grunts, thinking back to how he’d felt when he was a kid and got placed on the spectrum. “You think evenings are helping?” he asks, looking to Steve for reassurance. “I’ve been trying to keep it as light as I know how …"

“Babe, aw. C’mere.” Steve pulls him in for a big hug and presses his face against Bucky’s neck. “Of course evenings are helping.”

“Steeve! Gross! Get off me, you’re all—"

“Shuddup,” Steve scolds quietly. He kisses his cheek, then pulls back with smiling eyes. “You’re a good Dom, Buck. Even a normie like me can tell that.”

Bucky’s insides warm at the praise, but he masks it with a theatrical scowl and a shove to Steve’s chest. “You’re all sweaty.”

“So are you, Jerk.” Steve takes his hand again and pulls him along. “It’s slow going, but it’s going. We just gotta give it time.”

Bucky grumbles quietly. They both know that giving anything time is not his forte. A few shops down, the café comes into sight, and Steve gives his hand a squeeze. “You know, she did tell me the other day that she thinks you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“She said that?” Bucky blurts before he can catch himself. Steve’s smirk widens and Bucky drops his hand. “Punk,” he huffs, pushing past him to open the café’s door and hold it for his husband.

The smell assaults them as soon as they step inside. It smells like heaven; like coffee beans and yeast, warm spices and flaky pastries. Bucky looks for Mary at the service counter, but when he doesn’t immediately see her he joins Steve in front of the pastry case to drool over said pastries.

“Oh my God,” Steve moans. “How’m I gonna choose?”

“How is my BMI not gonna go up with this chick?” Bucky agrees.

The case is stocked full for the Saturday brunch rush. Bucky’s eyes flit between the shiny-glazed doughnuts, the already-crumbling scones, the sugar-crusted muffins, and the cheese-stuffed Danish. “Fuuck,” he breathes, imagining a mouthful of cream cheese and dough. Steve makes a similar sound right next to him.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts in. “No jerking off to the baked goods. This is a family establishment."

Bucky’s eyes shoot up at the sound of Mary’s voice, then he grins as her words register. This is the first time he’s ever heard her use sexual innuendo. “Well I dunno …” he drawls. “That cream filling really gets Steve going.” Steve shoots him a dirty glare and Bucky thrills a little at the blush he can see creeping up the big lunk’s neck. So fucking easy. He looks back to Mary: She’s got her hair up in a sporty ponytail today, and there’s something shiny on her lips that makes them look extra plump. “How’s your shift going?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from her mouth.

“Good.” She offers him a little smile for asking, which is something she wouldn’t have done two weeks ago. She’s been resentful up until recently, of Bucky and Steve keeping such close tabs on her. Bucky’s hopeful though, because lately it seems like she’s taking to it. Maybe even mellowing out. “You guys look like you’ve been working out,” she says. The way her eyes sweep over them is appreciative, lingering on their chests and arms. 

Bucky can’t help it; he swells a little with ego. “Worked up an appetite,” he agrees. “Stevie and I usually go to a coffee shop that closer to the gym, but ever since we discovered this place …” Since we discovered you, he wants to say. “Well, let’s just say it doesn’t hold a candle to here. This place’s got better pastries—cuter baristas, too.” He winks at her and watches in satisfaction as she flusters and looks away, unable to keep from smiling just a little bit. As a Dom, Bucky’s always been drawn to that kinda thing. A girl who can’t take a compliment is damn tempting. It’s that shy little blushing smile that does it; it makes him want to tie her down in his bed, take her apart bit by bit while he forces her to cum and take compliments over and over again.

Bucky shakes himself out of it when he hears Steve asking Mary what she recommends from the case that morning.”Oh! Well, let me see…” She gives the pastry case some consideration. The way her lips purse in a thoughtful moue as she thinks seriously about it is very cute. “Hm, maybe the frangipane mousseline …  no! Oh, no, get the cream puffs. I made strawberry and raspberry ones today!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Bucky but help and smile back at her. “Right. Two of those, then. And our usual coffee order.” He pays for the order and she starts flitting around making their drinks. On the other side of the counter, Bucky glances over to Steve. “Gotta get that cream filling,” he murmurs, and Steve rolls his eyes and tells him he’s a lousy human being.

Later on, Bucky goes to meet Mary after her shift ends. It’s been unseasonably cold for October and it had sleeted a bit during the afternoon earlier in the day. There’s a slick patch of sidewalk just outside the café’s front doors, which Bucky avoids but Mary doesn’t. It catches her off guard and her feet go out from under her in a flash. Bucky doesn’t think, he just reacts, catching her in his arms and yanking her in against his body. She gasps and grabs onto him, and once they’ve caught their footing, they’re just left standing there on the sidewalk, pressed as close together as they’ve ever been. Mary’s cheeks color so prettily, and her lips are parted, and they’ve still got some of that shiny whatever-it-is smeared on them, making them look vulnerable and kissable … Bucky’s struck hard by the sudden urge to take.

For once, he gives in to his urges.

Her reaction is a tightening of fingers on his jacket and a tiny gasp against his mouth. Bucky moves his lips against hers, urging her to respond. He’s kind of expecting her to push away, so he’s pleasantly surprised when she makes a sweet little noise in her throat and starts kissing back.

The shiny stuff, it turns out, is strawberry, and he’s not sure if he knows that more through taste or smell. Mary’s lips are so soft and so goddamned plush, her mouth incredibly yielding under his. It’s been years since Bucky’s kissed a woman, and he thrills with how small she is in his arms, how smooth the skin of her face is where it touches his. Everything about the way she opens up to him makes him think about how easy it’d be to take her apart in other ways. She whimpers against his mouth again, and that’s what it is about women that he misses, Bucky thinks. They’re such easy prey. The predator in Bucky likes that. He tries to remember to tell Steve that later. When he dares to swipe out with his tongue, she looses the tiniest little sigh and lets him in.

Dominant satisfaction at the small victory zips through him, and he moves his hands on her, down to her waist and around to the small of her back. He pulls her against him, just a firm tug into where they’re already pretty much pressed together. She whimpers and pants into his mouth and rubs against him needily, and Bucky has to pull back at the way that reaction makes blood rush from his head to other places.

He doesn’t want to be a creep, after all, but a submissive woman whimpering into his mouth and rubbing up on him like that can really only make one thing happen.

They’re left standing only inches apart, panting into each other’s faces. Bucky’s still holding her steady but she manages to find her footing. He pulls his hands back to himself.

Mary’s flushed and her lips are still parted. The way she’s looking up at him makes it very hard for Bucky not to just grab her again. He manages not to, offering her a crooked smile. “Well. That was … unexpected.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. Absently, she licks her lips, almost as if she’s trying to taste what just happened. “Yeah it was.”

They lock eyes, and Bucky knows from that look that he doesn’t have to bother asking if it was okay that he kissed her. She liked it.

They wind up walking home holding hands, Bucky pushing back a grin the entire time like a goddamn virgin.

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[goldenretriever-nicknelson]

Story of Us [P.P]

A/n: I don't know how I wrote this but I actually managed to before I went back to Uni and I'm so proud of myself! This is very angsty and lets just say I'm sorry. Yes it's based off of one of my favourite Taylor Swift songs.

Peter and reader are older but nwh didn't happen.

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!reader

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, mentions of grief, implied mental health issues, (brief) detail and mention of SA (drunk guy tries to hook up with reader who doesn’t want to), breakup, some violence (punching), implied sexual themes, underage drinking - if there's anything I've forgotten let me know!

“You and Peter are so lucky.”

“Imagine finding your soulmate so early on.” 

“You two will have beautiful kids.” 

The words that others had spoken about you over the past year echoed in your ear. Compliments about you and Peter being the best couple, that you were going to save the universe together one day. Yet here you were alone, travelling to the annual Avengers New Years party. 

And it was all your fault. 

You had almost chickened out of going at all, wanting to spend another day in your sweatpants eating through leftover Christmas food. The Avengers and Peter’s aunt May hadn’t wanted you to spend Christmas alone so they had invited you over, sent food and facetimed you trying to encourage you to participate in the holiday spirit. Usually Peter was enough to bring you joy even when you were just friends but even he wasn’t there anymore. 

How could you enjoy any festivities without the one man who had been there through everything, supported you and protected you? Tony was gone and now Peter was too. You were fed up with losing everyone so you’d stayed well out of everyone’s way. If you weren’t close to anyone, you couldn’t lose them. 

May had scheduled sessions for you with a therapist in the New Year, the same one she had seen after the blip and after her husband had passed. She had offered to drive you herself too. Most people might find it awkward to stay in contact with your ex’s family but May had always treated you like her own especially after Tony died and you had always been grateful to her as she had been to you for looking after Peter. 

The driver of your taxi announced you had arrived and you were pulled out of your trance, your eyes drawn to the Avengers compound that was decorated in bright lights and Christmas decorations. At least they had still continued with tradition. 

You took a deep breath as you exited the car, ironing down your dress once more with your hands and putting a smile on your face, however fake it may be. The music was playing loudly as you came closer to the building joined with the chorus of laughter and cheer. 

Your heart sank as you spotted the statute of Tony and Natasha they had built. Engraved below read “The real heroes, forever remembered”. You fought back your tears and shook your head, walking in and putting your smile back on. 

All you had to do was stay until midnight and then you could make a swift exit. That had been the plan anyway and then you had seen him. 

Peter Parker. Your ex boyfriend and love of your life, laughing away with Sam and Bucky and smiling wide. His brown curls looked messy as if his hair had been ruffled several times and no doubt by the duo that was standing in front of him. He was wearing his usual party shirt, the same one you had drunkenly cried on many times and the one he had kissed you in when the clock struck midnight this time last year. 

The room was crowded and yet his eyes still managed to find yours across the sea of drunken people. His smile fell ever so slightly but there was a kindness in his eyes as he looked at you and you could tell he was as nervous as you. 

You quickly looked away and went to the kitchen to make yourself a drink. Even though you were underage, no thanks to the blip, a little alcohol wouldn’t hurt. Dutch courage, as your Dad would say. 

The first shot of alcohol had just gone down when someone was pulling the empty shot glass away from you. “Hey! Hey!” 

You sighed and turned around to see no one other than Doctor Strange himself chastising you for underage drinking. 

“This is reserved for the adults.” Strange sighed and vanished the bottle of alcohol through a portal to another room. 

“Do you ever stop being a killjoy?” You crossed your arms and glared at him in true Stark fashion, noticing Peter walking over from the corner of your eye and getting nervous again. 

“With you and Peter drinking underage, I might just celebrate the new year in another universe. Less stressful when you’re made of paint.” Strange gave an amused smile at his own joke and started to walk away, leaving Peter headed straight for you. 

Your heart picked up its pace, threatening to explode as Peter’s eyes met yours. His honey brown eyes almost drew you in but you couldn’t give in. You quickly pretended that someone else had caught your attention and darted out of the kitchen, heading for your old room. 

“Hey pretty girl.” 

A stranger, a little bit older than you, stopped you in your path and grabbed your arm. He was tall with dark hair, eyes the same colour as Peter’s but nowhere near as intoxicating or warm. You recognised him from when he would sometimes work with the Avengers. His jacket had the classic SHIELD logo and you scoffed. 

“Either you’re in fancy dress or you’re really bad at being a covert agent.” You pushed him off of you and laughed but the agent guy wasn’t having any of it. He cornered you near the bathroom and placed his hand on the wall by the side of your face, trapping you as he inched closer. You smelt alcohol on his breath and the way he was looking at you sickened you to your stomach. 

“The famous Y/n Stark, complete with the wit to match the name.” He smirked and went to touch your face but you moved your head away, ready to put your fighting skills to the test. Natasha had taught you some things during your initial training to become an Avenger before the world went to shit and half the population disappeared. 

“Yeah well I better get back-” You tried to push past him but he kept you trapped, cutting you off from speaking. You froze as his free hand wrapped around your waist, trying to pull you into him. You knew you should have fought back but you couldn’t. 

You told him to stop, pushing him away and threatening him but nothing seemed to deter him. That was until someone ran and tackled him to the floor, punching him with fast reflexes and super strength. You recognised that head of curls from anywhere. 

Peter got up after making sure the other guy wasn’t getting up anytime soon and quickly came over to you. A worried expression on his face as he reached out to held you before hesitating and withdrawing back. 

“A-are you okay?” 

You nodded and took a deep breath, noticing that some of the partygoers had now noticed what was going on. Sam and Bucky made sure the guy was thrown out and reported whilst insisting you go with Peter to get a drink and sit down. 

Peter made you a hot cocoa and sat down with you in a room on the other end of the compound, wrapping a blanket around you which you soon realised looked familiar. On the wall were Star Wars and Sci-Fi posters along with some selfies taken by Peter. This was his old room when he had first joined the Avengers. Tony kept it for him even when he declined his offer so that Peter would always have a place to stay if he needed it. 

You didn’t even notice you were crying until Peter handed you a tissue and rested a hand on your arm. You appreciated the gesture and wiped your eyes, not even caring if it smeared your makeup. You knew what Peter must have been thinking and honestly it was still what you were questioning yourself. 

“I couldn’t fight back.”

Peter looked at you and raised a brow but he didn’t say anything he just listened. You told him what had happened and how terrified you had been. You felt like you had let Tony down, he always told you to fight back and you couldn’t even do that when you needed to. 

“Hey. You didn’t let anyone down. It’s okay to be scared.” Peter tried to reassure you, taking your hand into his and squeezing. A technique he had learnt over time that made you feel safe and calm. 

You sighed and swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. The moment you had been dreading since you had arrived had dawned on you without any warning. You were unprepared and scared again but you knew Peter, he would never hurt you. 

Silence filled the room, the only sound was the music from the party and the laughter from people who were having fun. You sighed and looked down at your hands, remembering that cold September night when everything finally caught up to you, the loss and the heartbreak,  and Peter had been the one to suffer. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The words that had been on your tongue for so long, threatening to spill every time you saw him or May and yet never being able to speak them into existence. It was only two words but the meaning held so much more. 

Peter didn’t reply for a moment and instead wrapped his arms around you, just holding you as you let yourself cry onto his shoulder. He rubbed your back and played with your hair, humming the song you and him shared a love for. You could smell his cologne and feel the softness of his shirt, noticing that he had a cut by his shoulder that he had evidently tried to heal himself. It was almost as if nothing had changed. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

His words caused you to look up at him in surprise, your heart once again racing as you met his gaze. His eyes were watering and he looked sad, more broken than you had ever seen him. 

“I shouldn’t have let go. I should have held onto you and helped you even when you pushed me away but I-I couldn’t do it. I was hurting too.” Peter’s words were full of pain and sorrow, your heart breaking as you heard them. You had spent so much time wrapped up in your own pain and pity that you hadn’t even seen Peter’s. 

You realised you didn’t have to go through it alone after all and that Peter was just as afraid of losing you as you were of losing him. 

Your lips met Peter’s before he could ramble anymore, the small bit of dutch courage you had that pushed you to make an impulsive decision. His lips tasted just as you remembered them, sweet and like home but with a tint of alcohol mixed onto them. 

Peter hummed in surprise, his eyes widening before kissing you back. Both of you settled into a familiar rhythm of lips moving against each other as the rest of the world faded away. You were reminded of the times you had spent sneaking in here as a teenager after Peter had come back from a mission and healing him with your touch. You had thought you had been smart but your Dad had always known even the things you didn’t want him to know, thanks to Peter being loud in the bedroom. 

“Y/n,” Peter pulled back and cupped your face in his hands, worry still evident on his face. “You just went through an ordeal, we don’t have to-” 

“Peter.” You smiled kindly at him, the first real smile you had felt in a while as you held him close and nuzzled your nose against his. “I want to because I love you and I wasted all this time trying to push you away when all I needed was to have you here, with me.” 

The smile that lit up Peter’s face was enough to make your heart race from pure joy as he held you close and kissed you one more time. In the background the sound of a countdown had begun, counting down the seconds till the new year would begin. 

“I love you too by the way.” Peter interrupted, his cheeks burning scarlet as you kissed over his face and neck. You giggled and shook your head at how dorky Peter could be. 

“I never stopped.” Your eyes met his again as he spoke and the sincerity in his gaze made you pause. You had never met anybody quite like Peter and you were sure you never would. 

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6!” 

“Neither did I.” 

Both of you smiled as you cuddled close, enjoying every moment that you had and determined not to waste another. You remembered fondly all the times that the Avengers team and your friends had tried to set you and Peter up, placing you together on missions and being the only two left when the study group or team briefing got cancelled. 

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” 

“Happy new year!” You chimed in with the rest of the party but only as a shared whisper between you and Peter. He returned the sentiment with a new years kiss just like the year before but this time there was more love and passion behind it, behind the closed doors of Peter’s old room. 

The polaroid picture that May had snapped of you both asleep in each other's arms that night soon took pride and place in Peter’s room. That was until you moved in together and had a whole canvas filled with photos of the both of you including your wedding photos.

Taglist (join here): @farfrombarnes @marvel-lock @parkerpeter24

Moots: @the-girl-in-the-chair @glowunderthemoon @spideyspeaches @seolaseoul

[vampysmusings]

from my collection of poems & prose

[demigoddreamer]

I might be weird for this but am I the only one who can't stand when people sing along to Poison when watching episode 4 of Hazbin? If they're just watching the lyric video, singing along doesn't bother me but when they're watching the actual episode I just like can't help but side-eye them a bit.

Like bruh that's a whole ass SA scene you're looking at and you're singing along? I get that it's catchy as fuck but I think the visuals are so sickening that any attempt at vibing is ruined. Me personally when I saw that scene, I just stared in devastation, despair, and heartbreak for Angel. The pain was too much for me to vibe along singing.

I'm not trying to blame people for being different than me. And look I get that Poison was released before the show so everyone got the tune on their minds but I also listened to the song beforehand and still did not attempt to sing. Feel free to bash me if you think I'm crazy

Edit: If the song is empowering for you, especially for abuse survivors, ignore the fuck out of me. That's not the audience this post was targeted at, it's targeted at the smiley happy mfs who vibe in a sus way to the song.

[femanthropy]

This is a big bat out of left field but does anyone have any info on the controversy about Andrea Dworkins earlier work regarding her talk about b3a$tial1ty and in$3st? Esp in her book “woman hating”

I came across this tumblr account that copy+pasted the same reply under every Dworkin post about her defending these topics and I wanted to know what context I’m missing/the deal on it.

[normystical]

Reminder that sometimes the victim is the oldest individual.

Reminder that sometimes the perpetrator is sometimes the youngest individual.

Reminder that minors can, in fact, S/A adults.

IT'S STILL S/A.