#very odd choice not to give fans any kind of a heads up

[hotwaterandmilk]

Have you found any more information about the 20th anniversary Kalido Star Kyuukyoku no Sugoi Soundtrack re-release?

Hi, yes a bit of an update - the re-release went live here on Amazon JP while I was at work yesterday and sold out almost immediately.

A lot of folks missed out, by the looks of online comments, as the only announcement regarding the sale was when it went live right in the middle of the Japanese work day.

The official Kaleido Star twitter account has since confirmed with the manufacturer that there will be an additional restock. No word on when this restock will occur unfortunately so I would recommend keeping an eye on the series' twitter for the latest updates. Hope that helps :)

[omega-e123]

!! NSFW !! Suggestive. Blood mention.

AKA: Intro to very self indulgent rut fic. You have been warned

In A Rut..

Restraint || Indulgence (p.3)

Odd behavior.

There Shadow goes again, walking off. He’s been acting strange lately. At first Shadow was practically clinging on to you.

Normally he doesn’t initiate physical contact, but at home he’s been snuggling into you, holding your body down so you can’t leave him. Attempting to part ways results a grumbly hedgehog.

The kisses don’t stop coming either. Knuckles every time you hold hands. Cheeks and forehead whenever he has to leave, no matter how short of an absence. Even if he’s going to be right back.

Jealousy has also become a big thing. Talking to anyone Shadow deems as a “threat”, he’s looming behind you, head on your shoulder and hands on your hips.

The worst it got was on a date at a bar. Shadow left momentarily to get you a drink. When he returned, someone was flirting you up. Enraged, the glass completely shattered in his hand. It sure scared off that guy. You had to bring attention to the shards in his hand, because he wasn’t concerned at all about it. Instead, Shadow slammed some money on the table and took your hand with the non injured one and left.

Next thing you knew, he’s been keeping distance from you. Both physically and shortening the time you two hung out.

He’s stopped initiating all together. Any advances you made Shadow wouldn’t turn down, but he would abruptly stop or attempt to keep it short. Started wearing a mask around you too.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Something is wrong with him. Your smell alone has started making his head spin. Every fiber of his being is drawn to you. Seeing you forces his quills to stand up on end.

Is this what a heart attack feels like? The pounding drum that is his heart is deafening. There’s no room to think. The only thing on his mind was you.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about you that way. Hell, it’s not like you two haven’t done the deed either; however, the intensity and frequency of these feelings have been cranked up to 100. It felt more primal.

The complete self restraint Shadow has to not pin you against the nearest wall, public or not, and shove his tongue down your throat is tearing him apart.

Such odd behavior was concerning. Swallowing every bit of ego and embarrassment, he turns to Rouge for answers.

Some help she was. That damn bat.

“Sorry, no can do. Sounds like a biological thing and not in the alien sense. I know you’ll hate to hear this but, try asking Sonic about it. You both are hedgehogs after all.”

“I think I would prefer skinning myself and be turned into a rug—“

She gives him a hard pat on the back, “Don’t say that. It wouldn’t be so bad~ I suppose you could ask Amy about it too… Or suffer! Your choice.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

What’s worse? Confronting Amy or Sonic?

That blue little shit would never let him live it down. Sonic could implode from hysterical laughter if Shadow told him about these thoughts.

Amy… It’s simply too TMI. While she is understanding and more open, what if she didn’t know anything.

Shadow’s instincts pull him towards the former option. Unfortunately for the hedgehog, he was semi right.

Sonic took a good minute turned away from Shadow. His hand clasped over his mouth and the other holding his stomach. Sonic reeling in his laughter and forcing not a sound to come out.

“Nono! Sorry! It’s cute!”

“Cute?” Shadow’s eyes narrow.

Sonic waves his hand, as if he’s fanning the comment away. “Never mind. Sometimes I forget you’re bioengineered. What you’re going through is a rut.”

“This better not be some kind of joke.”

Hands in the air, feigning surrender. “I’m not. You’ve probably never experienced it before because you ain’t got bitches you never had a partner. It’s the one time a year hormones go crazy. Some other Mobians also experience it too, like deer.”

Shadow’s massages his temples, processing the new information. “You’re telling me, it’s a biological signal that it is time to breed.”

“Odd way to put it but yeah, basically. Lasts about two months. What you do with that information is up to you. G’luck buddy” he gives Shadow a thumbs up and runs off.

Two whole months. Only about two and a half weeks have passed and already Shadow can’t stop thinking about you splayed on his bed begging for his touch.

[lemotmo]

This is not a reply to an ask. This is just a post she made. But this actually makes sense and I can't actually believe it makes sense. I also can't believe I kind of want to see it 🤣

Okay I have now watched the episode a couple of times. I was not a fan after the first viewing, but that was my fault. I had unreasonable Buddie expectations for an episode that wasn't at all about Buddie (hold on, I will explain). It was entirely about Buck and from Buck's perspective it was very well done. I think I can see what they might be doing, and if I'm right I will love it. Lots of you will hate it. But it makes perfect sense from a Buck standpoint. I think the show is setting up having Buck make an actual choice. But I think Buck will make the choice not knowing that Eddie is now a genuine choice he can make. I think the audience will be the only ones who know that by the end of episode 6. I'm not sure if I can make this make sense, lol, but I'm going to try, so try and walk with me here. The show clearly established last night that as far as the show is concerned Tommy is a decent choice for Buck to make. He's just not the right choice. He's close, which is why they had him and Eddie react so similarly to Buck last night, but he's not the exact right fit for Buck. Eddie is and they clearly established that last night. Everything about Tommy's scenes last night had him as the odd man out. And the way Eddie was used specifically in the B/T scenes last night clearly placed him in the role of Buck's partner. He was the one who was with Buck at the hospital, and not wearing the visitor tag, he was also the one Tommy called to tend to Buck's face and to try and talk some sense into him. In those scenes Tommy was the one who felt unnecessary and out of place. Eddie was the character that should have felt out of place in those scenes though. But because Eddie is the true correct choice for Buck it felt right for him to be the one taking up that space in those scenes. Eddie is the right choice. But neither Buck or Eddie, yet, know that. The framing of Tommy in all his scenes last night was intentional. Buck is keeping him on the outside. He's not part of the group. Tommy showed up and tried to participate last night, he made effort, but Buck kept him at a distance. I think the advice Buck is going to get in episode 6 is going to be that he has to decide whether to genuinely try or to walk away. I think Buck will choose to try. But while Buck is having his relationship storyline the audience will see Eddie having his storyline and whatever moment of self reckoning for him that involves. But I think the audience will know by the end of that episode that Eddie is now an actual option for Buck to choose, even if he isn't ready to be chosen or to tell Buck. But Buck won't know that. Obviously episode 6 could blow this theory right out of the water but this feels plausible to me. I think this is the will they or won't they part. And again, this may make absolutely no sense but it does feel, at least to me, like they want Buck to have a genuine choice to make between the two. I just think he'll make it, at least at first, without knowing everything. So it will look like one thing but will end up being another thing. Like episode 7x4. It was about Eddie and looked like Eddie but at the end of the episode he was with Tommy. This time the choice will look like Tommy but will end up being Eddie.

Thank you Nonny!

Oooh, I really like this speculation. I can definitely see something like this happen. The show will want to build up their story organically and this could be a good way to start their journey.

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If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[yandere-romanticaa]

The walk back home from school usually did not take you very long especially if you had the luxury of blasting loud music through your headphones. It was ultimately something small but it made you happy, calm even if the day was rough on you. The tunes would blare in your ears as you'd walk home without a single care in the world.

That was something that truly worried Toru Oikawa.

You actively decided to put yourself in the line of fire by closing yourself off from the world like this. Anyone could jump you, anyone.

Oikawa himself could hurt you if he really wanted to as well. The only difference was that he didn't want to. There's a certain power in that choice and it made it crystal clear to him that whatever you were up to was just silly and stupid. In school you were not like him, well liked and popular. Perhaps a wallflower was a decent description. No one paid much attention to you either, which gave him a lot of advantages he didn't even know he'd want or ask for. Due to his reputation it was always odd to see the smiling and cheerful Oikawa striking a conversation with you. He made sure to never be rude and always wanted to include you in any activity he possibly could. There was a period of time when he was actively campaigning for you to become the volleyball team manager and some of his guys liked the idea too. Iwaizumi, the sharp little cookie that he is, naturally, found this to be suspicious from the very start - Oikawa is not the kind of guy who does anything without rhyme or reason. He said nothing for a week or two but simply decided to watch his friend and monitor his actions.

It became obvious to him that Oikawa was head over heels for you. The feelings were not reciprocated, unfortunately.

Oikawa knew this. It stung. Hard.

He felt a twinge of pity for his friend. As annoying and insufferable as he was Iwaizumi Hajime was fully aware of just how overly ambitious and intelligent Oikawa was. He wouldn't say it out loud even if you held him at gunpoint but he wanted to help the poor bastard out.

Iwaizumi was easier to approach simply because he just wasn't intense as Oikawa. He had charm and charisma in spades but that could be incredibly intimidating sometimes, especially to outsiders. He took his time with you and slowly but surely eased you into the groove of the team.

Oikawa did everything he could to hide his seething jealousy but he wasn't doing a particularly good job. Iwaizumi simply knew him too well to fall for any of his tricks.

The same couldn't be said for you.

The setter is a quick learner and he adapted to you in lightning fast speed. He had his overwhelming moments too but they were all chalked up to Oikawa just being, well, Oikawa. He's just that kind of guy, there really wasn't anything that could change him.

You started to come to their practices and if you were feeling generous, you'd bring some refreshments and snacks along too.

God, did the team start loving you because of that.

Oikawa stood near the treeline, the shadows carefully concealing him as he quietly sucked on the red lolipop you gave him earlier. He toyed with the plastic wrapper which was still kept in his pocket as he watched you go along your merry way, completely oblivious to him tailing you. He was grateful to his best friend for helping him out. Oikawa was embarrassed at himself for just how much be liked you, just how much power you had over him. A few months ago whenever he would approach you he was always met with either a polite greeting or he was just flat out ignored because he said something that set you off or his fans got in the way.

Things were improving with you. Bit by bit, piece by piece. In Oikawa's dictionary the words "giving up" simply do not exist.

He has you in his grasp, you are so close to him that he could almost taste it, feel it. His body buzzed with adrenaline, like a magnet searching for his other half. You were there, you were right there, unassuming and vulnerable, all his for the taking.

However, charm and charisma weren't the only things he had in spades. Patience was one of his virtues as well.

[ranahan]

I just read the Republic Commando: Hard Contact and Republic Commando: Triple Zero novels by Karen Traviss. Republic Commando is Legends now, but here are a few points that struck me about arguments I’ve seen go back and forth here on tumblr. Spoilers for the books!

Several mentions of entire batches of brothers “disappearing” for minor variances & clones being more afraid of the kaminoans than their training sergeants. Kal Skirata drunkenly breaking into tears over the poor boys. Very clear that in Traviss’s books, clones were being decommissioned.

Several mentions of clones dying in live fire exercises on Kamino before being deployed & the training sergeants standing by and doing nothing.

There’s a blurb of a retired commando, chronological age 23, biological age 60. Again, in Traviss’s books, the artificial ageing doesn’t stop when the clones reach adulthood. The main characters are also described as visibly ageing between the two books.

Pretty chilling description of the kind of brainwashing that you believe because you don’t have any reason not to when your entire life so far has lined up with it. I would completely believe these boys could execute Order 66 without the chips & all I could do would be to empathise with them.

Troopers telling their concerned jedi to not worry their pretty little head about what happens to dead troopers. Later a reinforcing mention of no bodybags needed in the GAR.

Vau nearly killing a trooper in training & making the troopers beat each other into a pulp in training.

So again, Republic Commando are Legends now but if anyone wonders where the fandom got the idea that these things happen, here’s your answer. They aren’t fandom inventions.

Other notes and personal opinions:

I mostly enjoyed Hard Contact. There were some bits near the end that fell a little flat, but overall an enjoyable military action/military science fiction novel.

Triple Zero on the other hand, not so much. The pregnancy storyline was just icky. Both in how Etain herself makes it her entire raison d’être, how she makes it the reason for why Darman now has a future, and the lack of consent on Darman’s part. She intentionally gets pregnant without ever discussing anything with him (they’ve been together for two whole weeks at this point), whether he wants kids at all, wants them with her, wants them in the middle of a war, or sees having children in the same light as she does. She’s had the most superficial of introductions to Mandalorian culture and has no idea whether or to what degree the clones or Darman as an individual share those notions—given that they probably have an understandably complicated relationship with Mandalorian culture and especially the notions of children, parents, and legacy. For all we know at this point in the series she could have completely misconstrued the whole thing. But there she goes, and decides that this is how she will fix everything and give Darman a future: a genetic legacy to outlive him.

The force-accelerated pregnancy reads like a bad fan fiction and the whole “go undercover to hide the pregnancy” reads like a Victorian novel.

Etain feels like an odd choice for a point of view character in a military science fiction story. She’s aggressively the-girl-next-door, pointedly unremarkable and ordinary. I guess the point is that readers could have a regular person’s point of view, with which to contrast the commando mindset, and to whom things can be naturally explained without infodumping. But it goes overboard and makes her seem incompetent and immature, so you start wondering what the hell is she even doing in the story or on a battlefield or what does anyone see in her.

There are sexist attitudes straight from the planet Earth. It’s in men and females, how Etain and other female characters are seen through their sex first and other characteristics second, and how they are always “other” in comparison to men. But it’s not just the women, it’s young men—the clones—too where I get this vibe. It’s very bioessentialist. There seems to be this underlying thread of pairing up and reproducing being the most valuable thing a person can do with their life. Which again, seems like an odd choice for a thematic storyline in a military science fiction novel. Like, this is not what it said on the tin.

Some of the tactical/counterterrorism side in Triple Zero feels inauthentic to me as well. There’s too much being bad boys for shock value and too little professional soldiering for my tastes anyway. But I don’t kick in doors professionally so what do I know.

No sense of numbers for galactic economy. Exhibit A: Qiilura.

Lastly, fandom: can we get more Corr? This is an EOD trooper who gets both of his hands blown off early in the war, gets stuck in a logistics centre duty while waiting for better prosthetics, still determined to get back into action to fight alongside his brothers, gets accidentally adopted by some commandos, and makes a career change from disabling fiddly explosives to kicking in doors. A round of appreciation for Corr!

[spqcebunsforever]

My “Prince” Charming

Pairing: Billy loomis x reader

Summary: Y/n knows of Billy Loomis always seeing him in the halls or seeing him sit with his friends at lunch but she has never spoken to him. That is until she is walking home at night by herself and bumps into Prince charming himself.

Y/n’s pov

Of course, it's just my luck that I have to walk home in the dark by myself. I had been at my friend's house and we both had completely forgotten about the time and again just my luck my friend's parents hadn't been in so they couldn’t even give me a lift. So here I was scared out of my mind practically jumping at any noise that I heard. But I just kept telling myself that I was being paranoid and that everything would be fine but I still knew how long a walk I had to my house and this new killer on the loose didn't settle my nerves at all.

So I just kept my head up and tried to walk as fast as I could but suddenly I heard a twig snap behind me making my head immediately turn but there was nothing there no little small animal or just a person so I took a breath in and just told myself that I was imagining things. But when I turned around to again start walking I was now face-to-face with someone and I let out a little scream which made the boy jump a little problem not expecting it. The more I looked at the boy I realised just who it was.

Billy Loomis, I had never spoken to the boy but I had seen him in the halls or sitting with his friends at the water fountain but I had never actually spoken to him. “Oh my god I'm sorry for screaming but that's kind of what you get for sneaking up on someone” Billy chucked himself slightly and rubbed the back of his neck “Sorry didn't mean to scare you that bad but I just thought I'd come up to you, you know it is dangerous walking by yourself at night”. I gave him a quick smile “Yes well sadly I have no choice I was with my friends and her parents weren't home to give me a lift”. Billy just nodded and we stood for a second in silence just looking at each other until he started speaking again.

“Well if you want I could always walk you back home you know make sure you are safe” I couldn't tell if he was serious or not but I did like the idea of walking with someone rather than walking by myself so I nodded “well if you don't mind I would like that I've never been a fan of the dark I always feel like someone is getting ready to attack you”. I started walking and Billy started walking beside me “So why were you walking by yourself at this time if you know it's dangerous”. He just shrugged “I kinda like the dark I think it's peaceful and relaxing with everyone away and the silence except for the odd animal or something like that but you don't need to worry about me if anyone did try to attack me or something I am very capable of fighting back”. I just giggled “Well thank you so much for giving up on your peaceful and relaxing walk to make sure I get home okay your like my very own Prince Charming”.

Now that made him laugh and I don’t think I had ever heard Billy laugh until now “Prince charming that's a first do you treat every guy that saves you from walking home at night or does he have to be as charming as me to get a label like that” that in return made me laugh “Oh yes because it's just a normal thing for me to have guys sneak up on me at night and then offer to walk me home because I guess I'm just that popular” I playfully roll my eyes and I see Billy make a fake shocked face “Wow I didn't realise I was walking with such a big time celebrity we better be careful in case your fans get too possessive” he gives me a wry smile and I can't help the stupid big smile that's appeared on my face while talking to him “oh well then you better watch out my fans might not like that you were the lucky one to walk me home tonight they might get jealous”

“Jealous of me come on y/n don't make me laugh” he chuckled softly but then turned his attention back on me “But don't you worry if a jealous boy were to show up I would handle him easily quick and simple” I just playfully rolled my eyes again “ I would love to see that, that would make this night even better” Billy then let out a little laugh “well who knows maybe one day and I'll be fighting in your honour because of how much of a gentleman I am”. I again laugh “ I would love to see that just call me up and I'll be running” Billy then looked at me with a smirk on his face “And what makes you think that I would actually call?” he raised an eyebrow and waited for me to answer.

“Well, I would like to think you would call after all you are my prince charming”. His smile got even wider and he got a little bit closer to me as we continued to walk “Well if I did become your Prince charming I suppose you would have to give me a kiss goodnight, right?” I felt a small blush come on my face I thought “I guess it would” I noticed that we were not at my house and we both stopped “So, y/n we are at your house, aren't we, I don't suppose you could spare me a little goodnight kiss, could you”. I could still feel the blush on my face and I knew that I probably looked like an idiot but I tried my best to play it cool “Well I can't say no to my prince charming now can I” I kissed him on the cheek “thank you so much for walking me home you are such a gentleman Billy Loomis”.

Billy had a soft smile on his face as my lips touched his cheek and he winked before he responded “I'm just doing my job y/n but I suppose I should take my leave now…the Princess must rest after such a hard night out”. I walked to my door and Billy followed me “Of course, I am so tired from the long walk and you know how princesses are we are all very weak and fragile” I smirked at him and he returned it “How could I forget I suppose I'll take my leave now… unless you wanted to invite me in because you are so fragile and weak and you need some help from your Prince charming”. I knew exactly what he was trying to do and I wasn't going to stop him and even better my parents were out so we wouldn't be interrupted it was like this was just meant to happen.

“Well if Prince Charming would like to come in I am just too weak and fragile and tired to fight him on it” I opened my door and me and Billy walked in “Well if you're offering I guess I could come inside” his tone then turned into a teasing one “It might be dangerous for me to walk home by myself now you know since there are just so many monsters in the shadows” I led him to the living room and he started making himself comfortable on the couch “ see now you have to stay I wouldn't want my protector to get hurt now would I and anyway it is the least I could do”. I sat down next to him on the couch turning the TV on so we could watch something. “I hope I'm not disturbing you y/n I don't want to be intruding you know” I just shook my head “Now how could you be disturbing me if anything you've made my night so much better”.

While I was looking at the stuff to watch on the TV I felt Billy’s fingers on my face and he turned my face so that I was looking right at him. “I'm glad you feel that way because I can think of something that can make this night way more enjoyable” Again I felt my face flush and Billy started leaning closer to me and before I knew it he started kissing me and of course, I kissed him back my hands making there way up to his hair but before anything else could happen Billy stopped kissing me and I felt a sharp pain in my back. I turned around and saw the Ghost face killer I tried to scream or run but before I could do any of that the masked killer plunged their knife into my chest so fast I couldn't even count how many times they had done it. I felt myself fall off the couch and I saw Billy still just sitting there his face blank of expression I wanted to tell him to run or fight or do something but he smiled at the masked killer and then got off the couch and kneeled next to me and I saw the horrible and evil smirk he had on his face and I put two and two together and realised he was with the killer “Ya know y/n you shouldn't let strangers in your house they might just want to kill you no matter how nice they act but thanks for the kiss appreciate it”.

I wanted to say something anything but I couldn't I was in too much pain and I felt so cold and I couldn't move I felt paralysed. All I could think about was how stupid I was that I had actually let the killer into my house and how my parents would be so disappointed in me and how I would never see them or my friends again. I felt my eyes close and the pain that I felt was slowly going away the last thing I heard before everything went to black was Billy saying “Right come on let's move this stupid bitch so we can fuck off…guess I was a pretty shitty Prince charming huh”

[dreabastante]

Fan-fic for Punko's art challenge. Cinderella Boy: "Hair-dyeing adventure gone wrong"

Chase Hollow and the Hairy Pursuit

Chase runs, letting confusion and adrenaline fuel his legs in equal measure.

Just minutes before, he'd been leisurely perusing the wares of a shifty eyed entrepreneur in the not-so-Gucci end of town. In hind sight, he probably shouldn't have agreed to meet up with said entrepreneur in the first place. Any business dealings being done in piss stained back alleys were almost assuredly too uncouth for THE Chase Hollow. Almost. Chase had made a calculated exception in order to obtain the highly coveted and aggravatingly discontinued Mega Dream Boat brand hair dye in Sparkle Pony Periwinkle. He completed his transaction as quickly as he could before stuffing the slim bottle into his jacket pocket and turning away. However, before Chase had made it out of the alley, he heard a loud crack and two oddly dressed people started yelling at him. The first, a woman with aggressively curly brown hair, quickly incapacitated the man he just finished paying. This was somehow accomplished without actually laying a hand on him, but instead by just swishing a stick in his general direction. The second, an impossibly angelic looking man with blond hair almost as fair as his skin, started running at him. On instinct, he darted away.

Now, Chase continues to run. He has incredible endurance because of all the dancing he does, but it's barely enough to keep him ahead of his pursuer. He struggles to both think and evade at once. Chase catches glimpses of the beautiful man behind him in the reflection of shop windows and takes note of his attire. Black leather and red robes. An exceedingly strange choice for summer time, but there's also some kind of insignia stitched over one side of his chest. Could it be a uniform? Angel Face certainly has the pinched expression and general bearing of law enforcement. Chase isn't prepared to spend a night in jail over an unconventionally purchased bottle of hair dye though. Desperate, he ducks into a corner store.

Chase is lucky. The airport is nearby and as such, this shop always offers a small selection of paper back romance novels. He heads to the back corner, grabs the first book he sees and and slips through a door marked "Employees Only".  He settles himself into the far corner of what is clearly a break room, crouching under a small round table.

Chase untucks a metal key from his shirt pocket and whispers "Hey Silver. Sorry to wake you but it's an emergency. We need to go into this story. Right now." The key transforms into a lovely silver colored woman who nods her head immediately at his urgent tone.

A few moments later, Chase Hollow's handsome pursuer bursts in but finds no one. The strange man waves a strange stick and whispers some strange words that sound strangely like "Homenum Revelio". The bitter disappointment in his expression reveals that he has truly failed in some way. Without uttering any other strange words, he spins and disappears with a loud crack.

Later that evening, a very exhausted Chase trudges up to his room and flops onto the bed.

"Hey. That took a while. Did you get it?" Deacon, his cousin, asks. Chase merely gives a halfhearted thumbs up in answer.

"You look awful by the way. We can do it tomorrow if you'd rather" Deacon offers.

"Let's do it tonight" Chase answers after a long heavy sigh.

By the time they finish with the hair dye, it's almost midnight. Deacon looks ready to faint. Chase, on the other hand cannot stop staring in blissful awe at his new glittery blue locks. His hair is unnaturally luminescent and he couldn't be more satisfied with his purchase. His euphoria is unfortunately cut short when a loud crack brings two familiar figures into his room, both raising their odd sticks threateningly at him. He has a feeling this will end with him having decidedly less fantastic hair.

THE END

[666prophet]

Fallout S1:E3 - The Head

I think this one was solid. Moved the plot along some, but mainly a character development episode. This again I feel is geared to not fans of the games (no offense). It does a good job of showing you how things are and why certain characters react the way they do. Also a good juxtaposition of the differences between the Wasteland and Vaults. Did raise a lot of nit picky things though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Spoilers and Deep Dive ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok so The Ghoul was an actor before the bombs, got it cool I can dig it. What is interesting to see is if the go further into how he became so cold. Granted yes being alive for 200 years and becoming and irradiated time bomb will do that to you. I'm interested to see what chem he keeps using, it doesn't look like anything that has been in any game yet. Also just as a thought, maybe wrap up the severed head. Walking around with a head is just gonna make you seem like a Fiend or a Raider. Just food for thought. Its amazing the upgrades that Vault dwellers made to the Pip-Boy seeing as neither the 3000 or Mark IV had any kind of tracker feature.

Sir....in your boot....that would be the most uncomfortable way to carry around caps ever. Its pretty lucky this random person is skilled and knowledgeable enough to fix a component off a suit of power armor. Ok, at this point its safe to say that Maximus can't fight for shit. He also seems to have an odd obsession with toilet seats. They sent over a new squire amazingly quick, but also how are you surprised he is there? You just talked on the radio and they said they would send a new Squire. Oh its the asshole bully, how convenient. So how far are we gonna take the bully my bully trope.

Its funny that they have a prominent Sunset Sarsaparilla logo on the truck. Considering that Todd Howard has had this weird relationship with Fallout: New Vegas. He doesn't dislike it or speak badly about it, just more tries to avoid talking about it. I would say New Vegas is probably my number one in the series. It feels like a good successor to Fallouts 1 and 2, seeing as Fallout 3, 4, & 76 ditched the west in favor of the east. If any of the older games deserve a redo/remaster it's New Vegas. I see Lucy took my advice. So wait the first sign(not actually the first but still) of wildlife we see in an UNMUTATED FAWN?!?!?! Where is the mother? Did deer on the West Coast just not suffer from mutations due to the fallout? Also weird choice to have a Fallow fawn and not go with something a but more common and widespread in California like Blacktail or Mule. Alright a gulper, I mean you could have also gone with a mirelurk or lakelurk but sure I'll take it.

I think this gives a good incite into how some Vault dwellers are. They are very we are better and nicer. Very naive and very cheery, which gives a good contrast to Norm. The fact that they keep hammering the ghoul hate feels like ham fisted foreshadowing.

Leaches were never in the games. Its interesting to see The Ghoul panic when the winch locks up. Almost like he cares about Lucy for some reason, or he isn't as sadistic as we are lead to believe. Ummmm why does that gulper look like an axolotl? Yes they are also salamanders but not a common species in the US. Ok...gross....it has mouth fingers. I feel like there is some shenanigans going on with this gulper. The white lab coat kind of shenanigans. So either The Ghoul is SUPER addicted to chems or there is something special about these vials. Also that line about getting sidetracked might as well be the new tagline for all the games.

Well here is the "he was just misunderstood, not a bully" trope. More showing the difference between Vault 33 vs Norm as character. I like it. Also showing the cracks with the Overseer comment. The classic waterchip is broken mechanic, a Fallout staple.

Oh were being spoiled in this episode, a whole five seconds of a what looks like a bloatfly. So wouldn't the geiger counter just spike because of the fact that most all water is irradiated? It dies by puking its guts out? That's it? That's underwhelming. Oh look the head, that's plot armor if I've ever seen it.

So is The Ghoul trying to do a tough love mentor thing? I'm confused. Ok so he sold out because of his wife and she is tied to Vault-Tec somehow. Its interesting to see that she seems to know what kind of company Vault-Tec is.

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Its good. Lots of little things but we can chalk it up to me being fussy about detail. Shows more behind the curtain on the characters. We are starting to see more of the world, but I feel like I'm being breadcrumbed on that front. Hope we can start to more widen the scope because part of the story of Fallout is the world. Not just the "main quest".

Final Score - 8/10

[spiderman616]

Ian Flyn Archie anon here— I agree that there’s nuance, I never said there wasn’t lol. Ian Flynn was definitely also a game fan, but personally I never found that a sin or that big of a deal. I also absolutely never wanted to imply I’m pinning any one good or bad thing on him or any other contributed to the comics, I hope that I didn’t imply that simply by focusing my talk on one artist. I do not fall into that category of people that worships Flynn and makes Penders Satan lol. Penders writing choices consistently pushed my buttons even before anyone was ever using him as a scapegoat for everything, but even his runs weren’t the worst of the worst like people frame it. And I mean, yeah I guess when there was only a few games out saying ‘similar to the games’ could be disputed, sorry. I wasn’t trying to lie about it or deliver misinformation, I apologize sincerely. I will say that I NEVER even implied the art only got good after 160, you misinterpreted what I was saying there. I just said the art was more consistent in a way that was nice to look at, but I should have added the “in my opinion” so that it was clear I was not saying that it was objective. I very much wasn’t trying to imply my opinion was fact, and again I apologize for offending you. I do not think the previous writers or authors were worse by any means, I just, from the standpoint of another creative, found that when things started getting more consistent and tight I enjoyed it. I kind of understand what you’re saying about Flynn, I think people do overhype him, but I don’t think that means he’s lesser or not a good writer. I think a lot of people who are fans of some of the older Archie era tend to just completely write off anything from the more modern years as “overhyped” and “boring” and the fans of it as fake fans that don’t “really get it”, you know? I guess that’s just me speaking as someone that was reading Archie for decades, back when Penders was the head writer, all the way up to when it ended, but bc I liked some of the later stuff a lot of other Archie fans tend to either think I’m going to join them in their little cult with Flynn as Jesus and Penders as Satan or they talk down to me like I don’t REALLY like Archie, you know? It feels like I’m being fenced out of a place I spent most of my childhood lol

yeah youre fine i just kind of used your ask to talk about other stuff that was related. dont take it too personally i just like talking about archie and the sonic fandom's very odd relationship with it in general. i wasnt like mad or anything i just wanted to yap... everyone entitled to their own opinion etc etc but i do defend pre-160 archie a lot because most people dont really give it a fair shake. the quality and production of archie did get an uptick after 160 because the creative team was not as split, as the bollers-penders conflict shaped the comic ever since bollers came on as a lead writer. its fine to like flynn better bc of his writing style or any other factors, but a lot of people dismiss everything before flynn which is something i find a little silly because. well as you probably know flynn's run on archie drew extremely heavily on past characters and plot points. like it or not older archie did have a lot of worthwhile stories and plot points that lasted through the comic

[maverickrojas]

While his intentions had been entirely pure – he'd simply wanted to take his newfound friend out for a few drinks on an unsuspecting Wednesday night – Maverick still found him floundering and flushed under the other man’s gaze. Harlow was as gorgeous as he was kind, and when the Southerner enveloped him in a hug, his soft lips finding Maverick’s cheek, he could hardly control the way his cheeks burned bright, his heart jackhammering in his chest. It was suddenly easy to lose himself in the daydream that this wasn’t simply a night out with a friend, but a date with another, age-appropriate, queer man who might actually reciprocate Maverick’s own silly feelings. That’s all it was, of course – merely a harmless crush – but it was nice to pretend, even for just one moment. 

After informing Harlow that he was certainly a Shania fan, he found himself caught off guard for the second time that evening when the other man grabbed his hand, their fingers locking together as he surged forward, pulling him through the creaky doorway of the bar. Mav felt positively giddy, like a teenager on their way to their very first prom. 

The bar was heaving with people – no doubt others who had seen the amazing 2-for-1 deal that had caught Mav’s eye! – and the teacher found himself staring around in awe at the bar’s new decor. It wasn’t exactly the shiniest, most appealing bar in all of New York City, but he’d come to like it. Now, it appeared that some work had gone into sprucing the place up, paper hearts and daisy chains strewn from the rafters, an array of red and pink confetti scattered across the tables; It seemed like an odd choice to Maverick, one that didn’t exactly match the bar’s regular clientele, but he admired the effort that had gone into it all the same. 

“Oh, no. No, sir! I invited you, remember? It’s my treat,” he insisted, moving quick to wrap his hands firmly over Harlow’s, giving them a gentle but insistent squeeze. 

At the other man’s words, his head lifted to stare over the crowds of people, finally landing on Rafferty behind the bar. Absently nodding, he found himself moving through the crowd, not so much as uttering a polite response to Harlow as he found himself gravitating towards the other object of his desires. 

Maverick liked to think of himself as a kind, well-intended guy, but the truth of the matter was – much like everyone – he made mistakes too. It had been quite some time since he’d last seen Rafferty, or even spoken to the other man. Since their encounter on New Year’s Eve, he’d tried his hardest to seek out the other man, frequenting the bar as often as he could in the hopes that he might be able to speak to him – that he might be able to apologise for his behaviour. Each time, he was either met with a confused shrug from Ivy, followed by an even more confused “He was just here, like, two seconds ago?” or an indifferent grunt from the handsome Irish fella that he’d so often seen at Rafferty’s side. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that, perhaps, the other man was avoiding him. While the realisation had stung, he couldn’t blame him, and so he’d kept his head down and avoided running into him – the last thing that Maverick wanted to do was upset Rafferty or cause any kind of disruption in his life. He certainly wasn’t the homewrecking kind, so he had sworn to himself to keep his silly little crush in check. 

“Why hello there, stranger,” Maverick greeted him, working hard to inject a light, positive energy into his voice. He trained his tone as carefully as he could, not wanting to come on too strong, but not wanting to come across as rude, either.  

His cheerful tone was not well matched, though, as Rafferty hardly dared to even look at him. Maverick’s chest began to ache as it well and truly dawned on him that he might have ruined any chance at becoming the other man’s friend, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, his fingers drumming nervously against the edge of the bar. 

“Oh, well– I suppose, just two of your finest beers for me an’ my friend over there, if you’d be so kind,” Maverick responded, his forehead creasing as he noted the slight tremble in his own voice. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Harlow, finally seated not too far from the two of them. He gave the other man a quick wave, wiggling his fingers as he was suddenly taken with the need to do something with them other than drum a hole in the side of Raff’s bar. 

“In fact, I do believe you know each other,” Maverick remarked, remembering how Harlow had asked him to say hello to the bartender in question. 

He wondered if perhaps he should have let him come and get their drinks after all – it seemed that if the two of them were good friends, and Rafferty couldn’t even bring himself to look at Maverick, then perhaps the act of simply ordering a beer might not have been so mortifyingly awkward for the pair. Palms sweating and heart pounding, Maverick turned on the spot, suddenly overcome with the urge to do something he was sure he’d soon live to regret. 

“Hey, Harlow, darlin’,” he called out, not having to raise his voice too loud to reach the other man. “Why don’t you come on over here an’ for one quick sec, hm? 

After tearing apart his wardrobe that evening, Harlow had come to a particularly startling realisation. It appeared that Harlow owned an awful lot of denim.

It had never seemed a problem when he was getting ready for a shift at his favourite bookstore-cum-café. Everything he wore was bound to gain a few coffee stains and be covered in dog hair by the end of the day, anyway. And he never wore anything he had any special attachment to to the stables. To put it bluntly, Harlow was not a man made for dressing up. He was a man made for getting down and dirty, scuffing the toes of his favourite cowboy boots and wearing away the knees of his good jeans. But for Maverick, he really wanted to try.

Turning this way and that in front of his only full length mirror, at the very end of a particularly cramped hallway, Harlow tried to picture the kind of thing Mav would like. Truthfully, he didn’t know the other man very well, not enough to know exactly what he liked in a man, or on a man. But he knew enough to know that maybe Mav liked him. Enough to ask him out, at least. And he knew enough about Maverick to know that the sheer thought of him brought a smile to Harlow’s face. There was something about him, that pretty boy accent, every inch a southern gentleman. Something about those soft eyes, those full, pretty lips, something that made Harlow’s knees feel weak. Safe to say, he was harbouring a little bit of a crush.

Eventually, with every piece of clothing he owned scattered across his small, rustic bedroom, the majority of which lay littered across his hardwood floors, he pottered into the living room to find Marley, knees pulled up to her chest, one hand lazily tickling Bucket behind the ear. The blonde’s eyes were glued to some British sitcom she was currently in a love-hate relationship with, criticising the lazy jokes one minute and snort-laughing the next. It was real sweet, a welcome breaking up of the monotony of his home life. Harlow had had to step right in front the screen, blocking Marley’s view to get her opinion on his get up.

“Now, don’t laugh.” he’d warned, bracing his hands on his hips as he sported his final look. In the end, he’d gone for dark-wash denim jeans, paired with a denim shirt, in something Simon had once politely informed him was called a ‘Canadian tuxedo’, despite the fact Harlow was pretty sure Texans had a monopoly on it. Around his neck, an ascot of deep red lay tucked neatly, moving with every bob of his Adam’s apple. Raising an eyebrow at Marley, he’d asked, “Well, will I do?”

In the end, Marley licking her thumb to flatten an especially stubborn piece of hair that wouldn’t stop sticking up, she’d decided he’d do. Harlow felt somewhat good about himself, and pressing individual kisses to the top of both Marley and Bucket’s heads, he’d set off with a spring in his step and butterflies in his stomach.

He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be spending Valentine’s Day with a man like Maverick, a feat he’d previously thought impossible, like capturing lightning in a goddamn bottle. He, Harlow Charlton, had a Valentine! For the first time in a good couple of years, and he felt good about it, too. He’d somehow weaselled his way into a date with a man who made him feel like a giggly teenager. Never mind that there was a tiny, practically minute kicker, which was that perhaps Harlow’s eye might wander every now and again, given they’d be in the same vicinity as his favourite bartender.

When it came to the aforementioned harbouring of crushes, Harlow was pretty damn good at it. Rafferty Reyes was another man Harlow found his mind wandering towards, Harlow often having to be nudged by Billy during his shifts because he’d found himself daydreaming yet again about Raff’s hand wandering across the bar to envelop his own.

But tonight, he would put aside his fanciful daydreams and concentrate on the man who had asked him out. A man who wasn’t utterly unattainable, stuck in a loveless marriage and absolutely not okay for Harlow to fantasise about. Maverick? He was okay to fantasise about. And Harlow did. Quite regularly, actually.

Taking a deep breath as Harlow approached his final destination, Harlow let his boots skid to a stop. He was a few minutes early, after all, and it wouldn’t hurt to stop, repeat some light affirmations and gather up his courage to see not only one, but two extremely handsome men in the same bar tonight. Turning to the darkened window of a shop next door, Harlow tweaked his ascot, smoothed down the front of his shirt, and seriously began to re-think the denim on denim.

He didn’t have long to worry, however, as a familiar honeyed twang pulled him out of his reverie. Glancing sideways, a bright smile broke across the Texan���s face at the sight of Mav striding towards him, looking cute as a goddamn button. His stomach flipped and flopped like a fish on a hook as he lifted his hand in a shy wave.

“Hullo,” Harlow gushed, cheeks tinging a light red as Maverick gave him a quick clap on the shoulder. Before he had time to measure whether or not it was an entirely good idea, Harlow found himself leaning into the man, wrapping the Southerner in a quick, bright hug. Harlow’s lips sought out the other man’s cheek, his stubble rough against Harlow’s chin as he flushed even brighter. This was a date after all, right?

“I sure am!” Harlow chirped, trying to keep the waver out of his voice as he pulled back, tucking his thumb into his pocket just for something to do with his hands. “They got karaoke here?”

He bit his lip to suppress a smile as he thought about just how much Raff must hate that. Tons of drunk assholes crooning into the mic night after night, singing bad renditions of Billy Joel and Celine Dion. Sounded like an awful good time to Harlow, but then again, he and Raff were not all that alike.

“You strike me as a kind of Shania Twain man, am I right?” he chuckled, picturing Mav up on stage, loudly proclaiming that Man, he really did feel like a woman!

Shaking his head as he giggled, Harlow let his nerves do the talking as he surged forward, catching the man’s hand in his own. Interlocking his fingers with Maverick’s, he was surprised at how soft his hands were compared to his own. Nice hands, that helped little kids with their painting and thumbed through books and would probably feel absolutely wonderful running through his hair. The thought tugged on his heart warmly.

“Let’s go inside.” he led the way, pushing the door open to reveal the soft glow of the bar, the ruckus that was always contained inside, and the homely smell of cheap beer.

Pulling Maverick through the crowds, his eyes moved quickly from the few empty tables to the bar. It was pretty packed in the small bar, busier than Harlow had ever seen it actually, probably due to the nature of the date and the deal that had followed. Peering over the heads of the loved up patrons, Harlow could just about spot the sullen but still heartbreakingly gorgeous face of Raff, looking less than enthused about tonight’s crowd.

“You wanna go get a drink and I’ll get a table? First round’s on me.” he insisted, patting his back pocket to show Man he had his wallet on him. “Say hi to Raff for me, maybe?”

[metalbuckaroo]

New Years

Summary// An invitation left at your desk, leaves you with a decision to make

Warnings// smut, angst?, fluff?, cursing, unprotected sex, some toxic behavior, kinda possessive Bucky, I think that’s it

AU// mafia!bucky x f!reader

Note// This one is a little longer than the last two and there’s I think 3 parts left in this mini series

Series Masterlist

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

A week had passed.

Bucky’s meeting with your boss going by without him uttering another word to you besides the usual good morning as he walked by your desk. Making sure to be obvious with his lingering gaze as he flashed a cocky smile before heading up the stairs.

So, when his car pulled in front of the large glass doors with someone else getting out of it- it was odd.

The broad, blonde man walking straight to where you sat at your desk with a welcoming smile as he handed you an envelope. “What’s this?”

“Invitation from James Barnes.” He said, smoothing his hands down the front of his blazer. “Okay, I’ll make sure the boss gets this.” You nodded, giving him a small smile as you went to sit it with the other files that needed to be taken to him. “It’s yours. Have a nice afternoon.”

With another kind smile, the blonde walked away. Heading right back into the car without any other explanation.

“Open it.” Mavis said from her desk next to you. “No point. It’s probably just to play more mind games.” You sighed, tossing it to the side to go back to the charts you had been putting together. “Or- it’s the perfect time for you to play some.” She suggested, raising her eyebrows at you.

You looked at it for a moment, eyeing the neat handwriting that you recognized as Bucky’s before picking it back up.

“What’s it say?” Mavis urged, rolling her chair closer as you read over the printed invitation and rolled your eyes with a dry laugh. “A New Year’s Eve party. You’ve got to be kidding me.” You scoffed, resting your elbow on the desktop and rubbing a hand over your face. “Are you gonna go?”

“I mean- I don’t know. Maybe?” You sighed, squinting your eyes at the date and time on the paper as you thought it over. “Like I said, perfect timing.” She sang, rolling back towards her desk. “Yeah-yeah, whatever.”

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Two days later you had decided that going to the party was the right choice. The larger style home filled with people you had never seen before besides a few that had came to meetings with Bucky, drinks and food being served to the guests and mild music playing from the speakers that were in the corner of every room.

Two hours and a couple drinks in and there hadn’t been a sign of Bucky but you’d heard his name coming from conversations of people nearby as you talked with a man named Sam who happened to work for him.

Sam’s words started to trail off as he looked at something behind you, pressing his lips together tightly as you looked in the same direction.

A solemn faced Bucky making a b-line through the people who gathered in his living room to where you stood. The aggravation seeming to radiate off of him the closer he got until Sam backed away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bucky said once he stood in front of you, jaw clenched tightly. “Talking to Sam. Why?” You said crossing your arms over your chest as you raised your eyebrows at him. “I’m the one who invited you.”

“Did you? Hm, I don’t seem to remember that.” You pursed your lips, looking at him as he got visibly more aggravated by the second. “Very funny. Now cut it out.” He said with a dry laugh. “I just- can’t seem to remember you inviting me anywhere.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you before leaning closer. “Sweetheart, you’re playing a risky game here.” His voice was low, breath fanning your face as he spoke. “Oh, you’re right. Wouldn’t want to damage your oversized ego again.”

“Stop being a brat.” He snapped, teeth gritted together as you looked around the room. “In fact, I remember that really good looking blonde handing me the invitation. Where is he?”

You went to turn away and Bucky’s thick arm went around your shoulders, guiding you towards the stairs. “I think we need to have a little talk.” He said with a tight lipped smile.

Bucky had started to feel guilty for what he had said over a week prior. But, the moment he saw you talking with Sam that feeling had melted away into complete want and anger. Seeing someone else making advances towards what he wanted igniting the desire he had the first time all over again.

“You think this is funny don’t you?” He seethed once his bedroom door had been shut. “Doesn’t feel very good. Does it?” You quipped, cocking an eyebrow at him. “This is about the dinner isn’t it.” He squinted his eyes at you again, taking a step closer. “What dinner?”

Bucky let out an irritated sigh, rubbing a hand down his face before looking at you again. “I’m sorry that I did that.”

“Oh, wow, James Barnes apologizing. Must really be burning your s-” your sentence was cut off with a smothering kiss. Cold and warm hands holding your cheeks firmly as you kissed back with the same amount of want. Your fingers working at the buttons of his shirt as he shrugged his jacket off, both refusing to part from the breath stealing kiss for even just a moment.

Bucky fumbled for the zipper at the back of your dress as he backed you towards the large bed that sat in the middle of the room. Clothes falling to the floor in a haste until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Your legs going tight around his waist as your lips trailed down to his pulse point, hand slipping between your bodies to palm at his erection.

You knew you were giving in way too easy. But, the fire that his lips seemed to leave behind on your skin seemed worth it as he left open mouthed kisses along your chest and down your abdomen, stopping at the waistband of your underwear and giving one last glance to you before slipping the thin fabric down your legs. Pressing gentle kisses to the insides of your thighs.

“Stop teasing.” You huffed, fidgeting with the thick blanket that was under you. “M’not teasing. Just taking my time.” He smirked, squeezing the outsides of your thighs lightly as you let them rest against his shoulders.

When he said he was ‘taking his time’ you didn’t think that had meant he would spend so long pulling you apart. Low moans vibrating against your cunt as you pulled at the sheets and he reveled in the way your thighs closed in on his head.

Your mind so dizzy off of pleasure you weren’t sure if you had made an coherent sentence in the last twenty minutes as two long, thick fingers curled against your spasming walls. A harsh suck to your clit making you let out a hoarse cry.

“Stop?” Bucky panted when he lifted his head, slate blues only thin, dark rings around his pupils. “No.” You breathed out, propping yourself up on your elbows when he stood from the bed to let his briefs pool at his feet. Dog tags clinking quietly as he positioned his thick body back between your legs.

Your mouth went dry when your eyes lingered farther down. Erection throbbing almost painfully hard as he gently grasped his shaft in his right hand to guide himself. Swollen tip an angry red and leaking precum.

The position felt like it let him push deeper than before, the stretch making your mind fog over as his body bent back over yours. Your fingers digging into the broad muscles of his back as he nipped at your lips.

“Fuck- feels amazing darlin’.” He huffed, dipping his head down to bite a light mark to your shoulder. The roll of his hips slowly picking up until salacious sounds of skin slapping and nearly pornographic moans filled the room.

The chanting of the people downstairs counting down to the strike of midnight almost covering the mixture of mewls and guttural moans as his body molded so perfectly to yours. Thick cock sliding against your walls as he muttered filthy praises against your skin.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck when you felt the next high building in your lower belly, tears prickling your lash line as the white hot pleasure crashed into you.

Bucky’s arm went around your back when it arched off the mattress as his hips slammed into you. Fucking into the deepest sweet spot until you saw stars and cried out for him not to stop.

“S’fucking perfect- fuck- fuck-” He grunted against your shoulder, hips pressed tightly to yours as he spilled into you with a guttural moan. Holding you close to enjoy the afterglow.

“Happy New Year.” Bucky panted, a lazy smile tugging his lips as he slowly moved away to lay next to you.

You laid your forearm across your eyes in attempt to calm your body down. Your heart still racing as he shifted around next to you.

“I should probably get going.” You mumbled, the wobble in your legs when you stood undeniable as Bucky stifled a laugh. “Oh, just stay. Try to get a cab this late on New Years and you’ll be waiting all night.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, turning to face him as you put your hands on your hips. “Why the sudden change of mind?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders as he got under the comforter. “Maybe I just don’t want to spend the night alone.” He said simply, tattooed bicep flexing as he put his arm behind his head. “You have a million people downstairs for your party.” You said as you slipped your underwear back on.

“Steve will make sure they all get home. Also-” he leaned over to hook two metallic fingers into the front of your underwear. “If you’re staying, you won’t need these.”

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Waking up to the sound of running water other than your upstairs neighbors stomping down their stairs was peaceful as you reached for the shirt that was beside the bed. Slipping it on as you took a better look around the almost bare room than the one you got the night before.

A few pieces of expensive art hanging on the walls and the top of dresser filled with different clear containers of watches and cuff links. One pair sitting in their own container to the side catching your eye as you walked across the room.

The star engraving on the cuff link matching the one that adorned his bionic left arm. “Need a ride home?”

You glanced at Bucky who stood in the doorway to the bathroom and shook your head. “No, I’m fine.” You said with a light smile, sitting the container back down. “Well, there’s breakfast in the kitchen. If you wanna join me.” He offered, slowly making his way closer to you. “I really just need a shower.” You laughed softly, his lips ghosting over the mark that was left on your shoulder.

“Shower, then come eat.”

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The shower had been much more refreshing than you’d expected it to be. Breakfast going by in easy conversation before Bucky leaned back in the chair, large tattoo on his rib on display. The skull with a smoky background perfectly placed on the left side.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he looked over at you. That same cocky smirk curling his lips as he leaned to press a tender kiss to your lips. “No, no. I tap out.” You laughed when his hand slid up your thigh.

“Maybe another time then.”

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Taglist: @duchessoftheheart @uhhnahhthnx @magicaleternal @jamesbarnesjr @marvel-3407 @thefallenbibliophilequote @goldylions @rbookgirl23 @missusbarnes-rogers @auriel187 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @littlemissthistle @cupcakehinch @chunky-yet-funky

[lemotmo]

It begins 🤣

Q. Liking that particular pic and deliberately skipping over the Oliver one was a choice.

Q. Lou sees the passive aggressiveness from Oliver and chooses to match it. Well played

Q. I see people saying he liked the photo but I can't find his like?? Did he really like it?

Q. That timing was sus

Q. Oh they hate each other 🤣

Q. That was an odd choice for his proof of life.

A. Sigh. Will I ever know peace again? I want to start by saying that I also haven't found the like. But I didn't do a deep dive to look for it either. So I will assume, for now, that it's there. Having said that, he's just weird, I'm sorry. That's a bizarre thing to do. He hasn't had anything at all to do with anything any of them have posted in forever. The timing of it is a little suspicious. However I do have an ask that says Lou knows the photographer so maybe that's why he liked it. I don't know. I am not a conspiracy person, but he clearly saw the 911 related photo that Oliver took and intentionally didn't 'like' that one. That doesn't do anything to counter the argument that he's no longer allowed to talk about 911 related things. If anything it kind of lends proof to that take. In the end it probably genuinely doesn't mean anything. But yeah that wasn't the proof of life his fans were asking for. It might make them ease off Ryan a bit though, which would be nice since they act like a bunch of racist lunatics where he's concerned.

It probably won't make things easier for Oliver though. And they were already amping up their dislike of him, so I'm already irritated on his behalf. Look it can kind of be seen as just one more indication that they genuinely don't seem to like one another. It does come across as a very passive aggressive gesture, unless he does truly know that photographer. If he doesn't know the photographer though then it can probably be viewed as intentionally passive aggressive. Whatever the reason though it definitely continues to prove that the guy is just really freaking weird.

Thank you Nonny. Yeah, we saw this coming, didn't we?

As for the post itself? Yeah, basically this... all of this. Ali is right.

I haven't really searched for the like myself, since that would take up a lot of time. But one of the more radical BT stans posted a picture of Lou liking the photograph and, judging by the accompanying message, they were clearly disappointed in their icon. So yeah, it is real.

I don't even want to understand Lou anymore. I would just like to put all of this behind me and forget he even exists. Unfortunately I can't do that quite yet. Hopefully soon though. Very soon.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

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[ventihonklightice]

Clingy || Wilbur Soot

word count: 3.5k

~~~

Y/N had been lounging around the flat all day as her boyfriend filmed videos with his fellow Minecraft friends. Wilbur had currently been recording with Tommy and Quackity, another one of their wild Minecraft mod videos. She knew her love was busy and had his responsibilities with his own videos alongside the ones made with his friends, but she had been scrolling through Twitter and saw that he had just gotten verified. There was no way he knew about the news as he had been busy all day doing his job.

A smile grew on her face as she rushed to his bedroom door to share the great news, however she paused as she heard the nature of his current discussion with his friends.

“- but she’s been good. We’ve been really good,” Y/N smiled at his words, seemingly knowing it was about her. That smile quickly disappeared at the words her boyfriend was about to spew. “Just, she’s been kind of needy and clingy or something,” Wilbur shook his head not fully understanding his own words, looking at the wall behind his monitor too lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t quite understand his own thoughts half of the time, especially today as all he has done was played Minecraft. Slowly, the hate he has been receiving has been catching up to him, forcing him into this pit he’d never thought he’d be in which added to the stress that fueled his words. “Like she thinks she always has to be with me. Right now even, she’s at the flat.” Wilbur ran his fingers through his messy brown hair as he proceeded to explain his relationship. “I love her, I do, but I can’t even be with her right now so I don’t understand why she has to be here,” he confessed, mind clouded with tiredness masked by the wine he downed in an attempt to calm his nerves.

Y/N furrowed her brows leaning forward to listen further. “Well, she loves you, so what do you expect her to do? Not want to be with you?” She heard an American accent, likely belonging to Quackity.

“I-I don’t know. It’s just- I’m not used to this. It’s been a while since I’ve seriously been with a girl like this before. I just need space, but she wants to be around me constantly. It’s annoying.” The anger, the annoyance, and the frustration were all evident in his voice, making Y/N second guess a lot of her choices the past few days. She looked down at her hands, the mustard sleeves reaching past her palms belonging to the man behind the door she leaned on.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to push back her tears before she walked away, not being able to listen to him any further. Her eyes began to water more and more as bothering him was the very last thing she had ever wished to do. She sat on the couch before pulling the jumper off of her body, folding it neatly in her hands before pulling on her shoes.

Fanning her face quickly to reduce any possible puffiness or redness, Y/N timidly knocked on the door to Wilbur’s room. “Hold on guys,” he spoke to his friends, muting himself on discord. “Yeah?” She heard his deep voice call from the other side, taking it as her cue to push the door open. His hair fluffed about as he turned to face her. “Hey what’s up?” He asked with a soft smile.

“I uh think I’m gonna head home, got an early shift tomorrow and all,” she spoke softly while avoiding his gaze. Y/N wasn’t one to lie so she felt guilty for doing so but she didn’t know what else to do.

He furrowed his brows, confused at her words. She almost always stays the night, especially when she works early because he lives closer to her job.

“You sure? You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Y-You always do,” he muttered with slight concern in his words as he took his headset off.

She shook her head lightly, “nah it’s alright. Gotta water the plants,“ Y/N fiddled with the door handle as her other hand traced the sweater, knowing full well she doesn’t have any plants.

“Alright, I’ll walk you out,” he stood up, adjusting the chair in order to do so. Y/N reached out to him, his jumper resting in her hand, “where’d you like me to put this?”

He stood up, increasingly getting confused at her actions because he knew that she loved wearing his clothes and stealing them any chance she got. “I-I’ll um, just toss it on the bed,” he pointed to the made bed, slipping on his shoes to walk her out.

She felt his form loom over her as he walked with her out of the flat and to her car. They walked in silence, uncharacteristically. Wilburs’s hands were stuffed in the pockets of his pants lost in his thoughts as he heard her car alarm He walked to the driver’s side, lost in his thoughts while he opened the door for her.

She approached the door, getting ready to sit in the driver’s seat before turning to Wilbur to bid goodbye. He leaned down to kiss her, standard for all of their farewells, but she turned her head at the last second, his lips crashing onto her cheek. His heart dropped at the odd situation he was placed in, wondering why this was happening.

“I-I’ll see you later,” she smiled softly before sitting down and preparing to drive.

He could let her go like this. He had to know if things were good, okay even. Before he shut the door, he leaned down a bit to get closer to her. “Is everything okay? You seem a bit off, darling.”

“Y-yeah I’m just really tired,” she chuckled humorlessly, placing a hand on her forehead. “Sorry, it’s just been a weird day.”

“If you’re that tired you could stay here,” his voice practically pleaded, assuring her once more that she always had a place there.

“I-I’ll be fine, I promise.” Her words were soft along with her eyes, but she just wanted to give him what he desired; space.

“You sure?” He asked once more, extremely concerned, but what answer was he really expecting? Y/N nodded her head, “positive.”

“Alright, text me when you get home,” he leaned back, preparing to shut the door for her. She nodded her head, pushing her keys into the ignition. “I love you,” he spoke sincerely, bending down so that she’d be able to see him better once more. There was an emotion in YN’s eyes that he couldn’t recognize, but the smile on her face was sad. “I-you too, I’ll see you later,” she fiddled with her keys before meeting his gaze.

His heart shattered at the words. You too? What the hell is that suppose to mean?

He gave a tight smile before shutting the door for her. You too, the words echoed in his mind as he began walking back to the front door, pausing his steps on the pavement to watch her pull out of the driveway. He sighed before turning back to his path home. Upon returning, the place felt dimmer without her presence and he quickly took note of that.

Letting out a huge sigh, he plopped down at his desk, unmuting himself on Discord. “Sorry bout that, I’m back. J-Just walking Y/N out,” he spoke, taking the only opportunity his friends quieted down to speak.

“Wilbur!” Tommy yelled as the rest of the VC, which now had Niki, Jack and Fundy, errupted in chaos. “W-What? What the fuck happened?”

“Dude you got verified on Twitter,” Quackity shouted. His eyes went wide, opening the light blue app to see if it was true. Sure enough, a small check mark emphasized his name. He beamed at the sight of it, rushing to make a tweet about how grateful he was.

He went back to his feed, noticing that Y/N had made a tweet about ten or so minutes prior.

y/n✨| @yourusername

so proud of my favorite boy getting verified <3 love you @WilburSoot !!

His heart clenched at the tweet, being drawn back to the events that occurred moments beforehand. He liked and retweeted it, watching his fans swoon at the couple’s interaction without knowing what was happening behind closed doors, before getting back to his friends being completely distracted by thoughts on the girl he loves.

~~~

Y/N never texted him to tell him that she was home. She woke up late that morning seeing a few texts from him about twitter, how his stream went and so on.

As she looked at the time on her phone, realizing the lie she told him about working early and chose not to answer quite yet.

She spent the rest of her day around the house, cleaning, cooking or watching TV. She wasn’t in any mood to go on social media, not wanting to interact with Wilbur quite yet. Y/N sighed thinking about yesterday, thinking that it would be a better idea to just give him some space.

And so she did, for several days before Wilbur’s worry consumed him.

He sat on Discord with his friends, days after his last interaction with his girlfriend. “It’s just weird because she’s never like this. She always calls or texts me whenever she gets the chance regardless of whether or not I ask,” he expressed to his friends as they were fucking around on their own Minecraft world. He wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing in the game, just aimlessly pressing buttons and moving his mouse as he thought of Y/N.

Tommy chuckled shortly, “now look whos being needy.”

“Shut up Tommy,” Wilbur explained, running a hand across his chin, fingertips gracing his incredibly overgrown stubble. “Look I’m just saying,” the blond furthered, “there’s no need for you to say she’s clingy or whatever when your freaking out over a text! Like you saw her less than what, two, three ago?”

Wilbur shook his head, fuming now, “Oh my god, shut the fuck up Tommy! How would you, a literal child, know anything about what’s going on? You’ve barely hit puberty!” His outburst caused his friends to quiet down, them not being used to anger being directed in such a way.

“Wilbur,” Tommy started once again, becoming more serious, “I know you. You worrying over a few short days almost disproves everything you said the other day. I think you don’t know how to handle affection well, not that she’s clingy or whatever.” Hearing Tommy acting serious and not childish for this one second made something snap within Wilbur, knowing that the child was right.

He sighed, “I-I’m sorry for snapping at you. Everything is happening at once in my life right now and Y/N not talking to me has me worried. This isn’t what’s normal between us. It’s strange.”

“But isn’t this what you wanted? She isn’t being as ‘needy’ now. You got your wish, didn’t you?” George chimed in, hoping to help even though his own experiences with relationships hasn’t always been the best.

“Yeah, and I fucking hate it, I don’t know why I even said that. I don’t mean it. I love when she’s around, I hate when she isn’t,” Wilbur went on, his thoughts focusing on the good memories he has with his girlfriend.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dream spoke ominously, feeling as if now was the most appropriate time to speak.

“I-I’m gonna call her,” the distressed twenty year old expressed, whipping out his phone to go to her number. As the phone rang, he became more and more nervous.

“What if she got in an accident? Or someone kidnapped her or something?”He rushed before him and his friends heard “please leave a message for 3-“

“Wilbur, she’s probably fine. She probably had a long day at work or something,” Niki spoke, hoping to add a small but of optimism to the situation.

“Yeah but she would’ve told me that. She would’ve called me to rant about her day, and tell me how much she wanted to see me, but she didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, getting more and more stressed out over this.

“I-I think I’m gonna head to her flat.”

~~~

The drive was long as his anxiety slowly but surely began to increase with every green light. He pulled into her complex, parking and building up the courage to confront her.

“It’ll be fine. Things are fine,” he muttered to himself as he walked up the steps to the familiar doormat.

He knocked on the door, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. After a minute, there was no response so he knocked again with more ergency.

“Just a minute,” he heard her soft voice yell out, flooding him with relief. The voice wasn’t as warm as it typically was, only increasing his nervousness.

Before he knew it, Y/N opened the door, eyes meeting his chest before trickling to his eyes. “Wilbur? What are you doing here?”

He froze, shocked at the situation that he forced upon himself without realizing it. “I-You weren’t answering any calls or texts. I was worried,” he mumbled, immediately taking note of her puffy eyes.

“Have you been crying?” He stepped closer to her with concern lacing his voice. He reached out to hold her waist, caress her cheek, anything, but she stepped away slighted. Y/N blinked, “y-yeah, it’s just allergies.”

“You don’t have allergies like that Y/N. May I please come in?” Wilbur knew her better than that, probably even better than she knew herself. She nodded shortly opening the door wider for him to enter, looking down at her sock clad feet.

He entered the tiny flat, taking not that the once welcoming space has become littered with turmoil. The tissues by the sofa didn’t go unnoticed and neither did the pile of dishes in the sink. “What’s been going on? These past few days you’ve been acting strange,” he asked sincerely.

Y/N looked around, finding something and pretending to be busy with it. “I’ve just been busy,” she mumbled looking over the pile of mail she refused to actually look through. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, would you like some tea?” She asked, realizing her manners.

“Y/N,” he spoke defeated, “come on talk to me, please.” He practically begged as he followed her steps into the kitchen to start the kettle, even though he didn’t give her an answer.

“Everything’s fine, Wilbur,” she replied absentmindedly as she searched for her various teas. “We got chai tea, black tea, Engli-“

“Y/N, I dont fucking want tea right now I want you to talk to me,” he shouted, approaching her in the kitchen and forcing her to face him by pulling her waist gently. She gasped at the loudness of his words, not used to him yelling at her.

“Wilbur,” Y/N whispered, her hands on his chest as he looked down into her eyes. Desperation was clear in his before being mimicked in his words, “this is the longest you’ve gone without calling me Wil. Come on Y/N, please.” His voice cracked towards the end, the shakiness not leaving.

She closed her eyes tightly before she pulled herself out of his arms, turning to grab two mugs out of the cupboard, “you’re getting chai tea.”

“Love, I just want us to be okay,” he spoke passionately, pleading for things to be right.

“We are okay Wilbu- Wil,” she corrected, more so forcing the nickname to combat his complaint. As she prepared each cup, putting Wilbur’s desired amount of sugar into his cup and respectively her own.

He shook his head, not believing her words as his own eyes began to turn red, “there’s something wrong and I can tell. Please just-please Y/N.” His voice was completely broken and she knew she had to express her concerns. She paused her motions, staring at the jar of sugar she just placed onto the counter.

“I-I didn’t want to bother you,” she muttered softly, examining the mugs before her.

The man sniffed, confusion growing within him. “W-What do you mean? You could never bother me Y/N,” his voice soft, approaching her once again.

She shook her head, moving to put sugar in each cup, forgetting that she already did so, “but that’s not true. We both know that.” The water remained on the stove while copious amount of sugar occupied each cup. Wilbur gently grabbed the hand holding the spoon that shoveled the sugar into the mugs, making her stop her own actions.

“Yes it is, love.” Wilbur whispered softly as she put the spoon into the jar, coming back to reality. Y/N let out a shaky breath, facing the counter while Wilbur occupied her side, facing her.

“So why’d you tell all of your friends that I’ve been clingy and needy and overbearing and everything under the sun?” She whispered as her voice wobbled, indicating that tears would soon come falling down.

Wilbur furrowed his brows, confused at the words she expressed. He scavenged his mind, not understanding what she was stating. “What are yo-“ he cut himself off, taking his hand from hers as he remembered that conversation.

Guilt washed over his soul as he realized the greater impact of his words. She thought she had to change....for those idiotic meaningless words expressed in a fit of stress and exhaustion. He shook his head lightly, refusing to look at her, refusing to look at the damage he’s caused.

“I didn’t mean it Y/N. I just-there was a lot on my plate and I just had to complain about something. A-And you were there to complain about.” He spoke honestly, knowing that it doesn’t excuse his behavior. The sound of the kettle went off, the whistle tones attacking his ears while Y/N ignored it to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I just didn’t want to be a burden,” she muttered with a wobbling bounce that made the tall idiotic man pull her into his arms.

“No,no,no don’t ever ever think that again. You are not a burden. You never were Y/N. This is on me, I shouldn’t have said what I had said,” he muttered into her hair, repeating apologies like a mantra while kissing her hairline.

She let go, allowing her pent up feelings from the past few day flow out through tears while in the comfort of his arms, “my biggest fear is bothering people. I-I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” he pulled away to hold her tear stained cheeks in his hands, regret prominent in his gaze, “you have been nothing but patient with me these past few months and that is something I don’t even have the words to express, love.”

“You, Y/N L/N, are not a burden, not now, not ever,” he whispered lovingly. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I’m sorry I even said it. I didn’t mean it, but fuck I shouldn’t have. Look at what I’ve done to you,” his voice wavered as he pulled away to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he shook his head as a sob escaped his lips before he could pull her into his arms again.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, holding her tight while the whistle pierced his ears. She leaned back slightly, pressing her forehead against his while closing her eyes, “I know, I know. It’s okay. I know you. I know you wouldn’t mean it.”

“I love you,” he whispered, holding her head in one of his hands. “I love you too, Wil,” she whispered back, pulling his lips onto hers, sealing their words with this actions.

As much as he loved the feeling of her soft lips on his once again, he pulled away. “Okay, okay, as much as I don’t want this to stop, that damn kettle is driving me mad,” he expressed, making Y/N chuckle before kissing him on the cheek and going to turn off the stove.

He watched fondly as she was about to pour the water into the mugs, stoping to see the plethora of sugar in each. “Oh shit,” she paused, laughing at the mess she had made. Wilbur snapped out of his gaze, examining the scene that caused her words.

He shook his head lightly, grabbing the kettle from her hands before placing it back onto the stovetop. “You,” he turned to face her, poking her cheek, “go to bed, get all comfy and put on a film. I will finish the tea and bring it to you.” His eyes got soft towards the end of his statement as he went to assess the mug situation.

“Then,” he spoke gently, grabbing her waist once again, littering her face with kisses that trailed down her neck, “I’ll spend the whole day making it up to you.”

Y/N laughed, running her fingers through his soft hair, “can’t wait.” His lips stayed pressed onto her neck, before they made their way back to her own.

[kanansdume]

I think it may depend on what you like about the Kenobi show and what it is that you think may be keeping you from wanting to watch Andor.

I can speak to you as someone who has loved both shows deeply, but for very VASTLY different reasons.

Kenobi was predominantly a deep dive into this one dude's head in a very specific moment of his life. A specific turning point for him. Everything in the show was designed to revolve around the way Obi-Wan's view of the world starts to change. Every character is in there either to help Obi-Wan move forward or to parallel Obi-Wan or Anakin. Every plot point exists specifically to get Obi-Wan from point A to point B in this mental journey. The costumes, the music, the dialogue, the cameos: all of it was there for Obi-Wan and quite literally nothing else.

It had some plot logistics issues here and there, some slightly odd choices maybe, but I really really loved the take it had on Obi-Wan as a character, especially at this time in his life. I appreciated the way it used Leia specifically instead of Luke, and the way it added to Obi-Wan by giving him this relationship that had never truly existed before. I'm a big Obi-Wan fan, so I was equal parts terrified and excited for this show because I felt like I was only ever going to feel one of two ways about it: immensely betrayed/angry/disappointed, or entirely satisfied. Thankfully, I ended up the latter. I think Deborah Chow and Ewan McGregor took great pains to make sure this show was portrayed Obi-Wan accurately and intimately as they took him through this journey. That he's not perfect, he's got flaws like everyone else, that he IS impacted by what happened, but that he is also strong enough to overcome it, kind enough to fight through it ultimately. I felt like this show understood who Obi-Wan was meant to be as a character and the core of what his narrative was. This was exactly the story I was hoping to get for him.

Andor is not that. For all that it is obviously following Cassian more than anyone else, this is not just a deep dive into Cassian in one specific moment of his life, it is his origin story. But more than that, they are utilizing Cassian Andor's origin story to tell a story about the galaxy far far away. It's bigger than Cassian, it always has been. Cassian has always been one small part of a much bigger story. An integral part, for sure, Luke would not have destroyed the Death Star without Cassian. But a small one, all the same. His name will not go down in their history, his part in the story will probably be conflated with the sacrifices made by everyone in the rebellion.

And so Andor uses Cassian's story to look at all of the ways the Empire is hurting people, to look at what makes people rebel, what people have to sacrifice in order to rebel, what makes people support the Empire and the ways THEY get treated regardless of that support. It's a worldbuilding show more than it is a character deep dive show. It's Cassian's story, but Cassian is moving everyone else's story forward, as well, without even realizing it. Cassian's story echoes and mirrors and parallels everyone elses as much as they do the same for his. The characters aren't necessarily chosen or designed specifically to move Cassian ALONE forward, but to create a larger message being told through all of them. It's Cassian's story, but it's being told through everybody in the show because Cassian's story has never truly been about him alone.

Andor's plot is a lot less weird logistically than Kenobi was sometimes because it's all ABOUT the plot, how each person's choice can lead to consequences for everyone else, how each choice ripples out in ways no one could have anticipated. It's a political thriller in some ways. But it's also an ensemble show, so it's doing less of a deep dive into any of its main characters as much as it is allowing the characters to create a mural out of their inter-lapping stories.

It also has chosen to do things in ways that not everyone has enjoyed. Its structure is markedly different than really any other show I've ever seen. It has, for the most part, been written in 3-episode arcs that are defined only by Cassian's story while everyone else's story is just one long serialized plot that only occasionally even comes vaguely into contact with Cassian's own plot or each other's. One episode is usually to introduce the new situation, one to expand upon the characters and how they relate to Cassian, and the final one is usually a big action storyline. For some people, this has felt very weird in terms of pacing and can feel too slow. I personally adore it as someone who isn't as big of a fan of episodic shows and dislikes the way set-up at the beginning of a story can sometimes feel like a slog, to get a big action episode every 3 episodes, to know that that's coming. But it's different and not what we're used to, so it will also not be for everybody.

Andor chose to refuse the use of the Volume technology in favor of real locations and large sets, which I personally have REALLY enjoyed getting to see. It adds a very grounded kind of feel to the show in way some of the others haven't always had. Which isn't bad for a show like Kenobi that felt like it warranted a more dreamy or fantastical feel to it, that it's not quite real, not quite like our world, and is spending most of its time inside one person's head. This is a world of magic in space where people can float and lift mountains and feel each other across billions of miles because Emotions. It's a story that wants you to relate to just one specific person and how he is feeling at all times. But Andor wants you to make that connection to our world, it wants you to feel like you could live here in its locations, to feel like we're not so far away from what the characters are experiencing. Which has felt incredibly fun and novel after a slew of shows that have chosen not to do this.

Andor won't be for everyone. It never forgets that it's Star Wars, but it definitely wants to feel distinct and stand out and look at the world of Star Wars from a new lens. If what you want from Star Wars is more of that fantastical magical space fantasy kind of feeling, Andor may not be for you. If what you enjoyed most about Kenobi was that deep dive into one specific character's head and journey, Andor may not be for you. But if you're maybe interested in taking a different look at the world of Star Wars that focuses in less on the fantastical and more on the possible nitty gritty of what it takes to make the fantastical happen through a mosaic of ensemble characters, you might just want to give it a go and see how you feel.

I really should catch up on “Andor” but I don’t know. Everyone tells me that the show is so much better than the Kenobi show and that I need to watch this show and that this is finally a good Star Wars show and the only thing that happens in my head is that I kinda don’t want to see the show?

I know this is crazy but every new post or podcast like this makes me think… “I think I rewatch OWK instead.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Walk It Off (Finale)

Love With You (see previous or series)

Summary: Getting to date night is A LOT harder than you thought it would be.

Warning: Canon-typical violence/death of bad guy.

It’s not exactly smooth sailing to get to date night with Steve Rogers. It’s postponed two times in a row due to undisclosed missions, which you know better than to ask about directly. Clearance levels and all. You were never even told what happened to the quinjet shot while you were inside it, but that’s the gig. Smoke and mirrors.

You’ve already spazzed out about what kind of place to choose. Restaurant, food truck, either of your apartments; it’s all a minefield. You don’t want him to think you’re ashamed to be seen (as yourself or with him), but you also don’t want him (or you) to be harassed by press or fans while trying to enjoy a meal. You haven’t yet gotten to know him, so you could play it safe, but the choice can’t give the impression you think he has no standards or no taste for international cuisine. It can’t suggest you expect him to pay a boatload of money to hang out with you. If even one of these no-no boxes is checked, in your mind you’ll be mortified enough to run (walk) home, to your parents’ house, in another state. Yes, all the spazzing really does is convince you the ideal would be to chill on his couch in silence until he kicks you out for being the most boring girl he’s ever met.

It’s hard to hold onto self-esteem around Steve Rogers. Especially when you look right at him because…well, you won’t go into detail. You have work to concentrate on. You haven’t even mentioned him by name in front of anyone in the lab, not even in his professional capacity. Gracie seems pretty convinced that Romanoff is grooming you for some super-secret mission. You aren’t a good liar, but you can keep your mouth shut.

From the windows and halls and TVs surrounding your lab, you can see him working and being too busy for a date with little ol’ you. You’re still half-convinced whatever magic window into the alternate reality where Steve Rogers is maybe interested in you is closing, but what a nice dream it was for a while.

Steve is very polite but never talks very much. His texts become less frequent and include significantly less humor. He asks about logistics and schedules. At some point, you mention that he should probably use his free time to be kind to himself, to sketch, and (you were very nice about it) to listen to any kind of music that makes him happy. He should relax, and you’re sure worrying about fulfilling some dinner obligation is not relaxing. He must be exhausted. You’ve now gone from accidental patient to accidental friend to accidental life coach. Steve seems irritated by all of this, so you back off more.

He and the whole team have been gone well over a week, totally incommunicado, and almost every tactical supporting member of their staff has also vanished to a classified location. Tonight was supposedly the big day, the last agreed rescheduling, and you sulk at your desk.

Kept busy by random uploads of compound scans to decipher, the odd redacted project to triple check the team’s analysis, you resign yourself to go through the motions after work.

You will put on that dress hanging in your locker. You will put on makeup and pray your ponytail doesn’t leave a nasty crimp in your hair. You will hold your head high and wait for no more than forty-five minutes before leaving.

You’ll be ready all right; ready for nothing to happen. It’s the only safe thought to keep your heart from getting crushed, and not in the good way like Steve’s hugs.

You should probably start thinking of him as Captain Rogers again. At least, you’ll have to within the next two hours or so.

A few people leave early, but by 4:48 all the work has been finished and no new emails have come in. Since getting dressed is one step closer to disappointment, you assure Gracie that you’ll just wait until exactly five to make sure nothing comes up. Dr. Banner is out of the lab, after all, so someone should really be covering every moment they can.

Gracie narrows her eyes at you. She knows you’re nervous, knows you hung a dress up in the supply room, knows that if you haven’t said anything so far, you won’t crack now. She leaves without fuss but sends a text minutes later.

: Knock him dead, girl.

The sounds of people quiet from the hallway. After opening your eyes from some breathing exercises, your chest swells with pride. You’d managed to make it until 5:06. Maybe you won’t sweat right through the pits of your dress after all.

With soft fabric in your favorite color, a modest length, and a flowing skirt, it’s the type of dress bad memories can’t stick to. It can never be bad luck. You love it too much.

Just as you’re about to slide on your shoes though, the lights go out, returning in a dull red glow seconds later.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” you call.

No response.

You pull your phone out, but it can’t find wifi or the Stark network. Your hand is on the door back to the lab when you hear a pop-pop-pop this is impossible to misread: gunshots.

There is so much security in Avengers HQ that your very first reaction is to sit on a stack of test tube crates and wait for an all-clear because there’s no way anyone could get in.

Even though the Avengers are not here. Even though their staff isn’t here. Second wave agents would also be deployed to help the Team, and quite a few of the regularly stationed guards would be off with the daytime employees or switching shifts.

You clutch your useless phone a little tighter and listen. There are noises but nothing distinct until you hear the soft squeal of the lab entrance. Your whole body tenses. You can’t inhale or exhale.

The door closes.

Faintly, you hear whispers. When someone walks near enough to the supply door, you hear them saying, “stay down and get behind the desks. Quiet. Get down.”

Someone yelps as more gunfire sounds closer than the last. It might have been you yelping, you’re not sure, but you are standing now.

There’s a small square window at the top of your hideaway’s door. It’s hard to see in the dim, but you don’t recognize any of the huddled as your lab crew. They must have all just fled to wherever intruders weren’t.

The group crouches in mostly silence, some covering their heads, some trying to hand-signal things to each other. Minutes pass. Your phone now says 5:16, but you snap the home screen off again at a sharp bang.

The entrance door has been kicked open. Several of those hiding can’t help but muffle sounds of fear. One head pops up still hidden from the intruder but behind a taller filing cabinet.

Geeta from the therapy circle. She’s staring right at you in the window and motioning for you to hide off to the other side of your lookout.

Your heart is fighting to stop your nervous swallowing. You want to bury yourself under supplies and stay there until it’s all over, but the people ten feet away with a gun pointed at them have no cover.

The gunman orders everyone to raise their hands. He sweeps around and gathers the group, including Geeta, along the center strip of workstations. The lights start to come back on, but he doesn’t move the muzzle away from his hostages.

Geeta has her hands up and remains on her knees beside a desk, head tilted down, eyes up, staring at your little window.

You grab one of the thick crates you were sitting on. It may have tons of holes in it, but at least it’s something between you and that brute’s force, if not gunfire.

But then your phone starts pinging loudly over and over again. Other devices do too, but yours is the only noise behind him. From the corner of your window, you watch the man start to turn, and Geeta grabs a figurine off of Harris’s desk to chuck off to the side.

He’s distracted, gun up, but his profile faces you. There’s no telling what possessed you. Maybe it was the fear, maybe you knew that man would turn towards you eventually, or maybe you were just really pissed that everything in the universe seemed to be aligning to thwart your date with god damn Captain America. You throw yourself out the door and wrench the crate up into that man’s stupid jaw as hard as humanly possible.

His head snaps back unnaturally, body crumpling to the tile, but you keep thinking ‘he’ll shoot, he’ll shoot.’ You’re slamming the crate down anywhere on him that looks vulnerable until Geeta tucks an arm in yours to pull you off.

“I got this,” she tells you softly.

By how she takes his sidearm and the larger automatic weapon, Geeta has military training which you never knew. You’re in awe of her grace under a kind of pressure you didn’t know your body could even survive. Geeta guards the door, and the minutes tick by again.

The gunman is 100% dead. As a doornail. Does that make you a nail that shot out of a door? Or is the nail going into the door what makes it dead? Or perhaps the phrase is equating an inanimate object with something formerly animated and currently dead…

You focus on anything except why the man is dead beside you. You’re grateful for not throwing up. You crawl to hold a man’s hands and guide him through a panic attack. Both of you really. You guide both of you through a panic attack.

There are no more noises in the hall, but the lights have stayed on. You still prepare yourself for this to be just the beginning or already the end. Your breathing, at least, is finally under control.

There’s a loud chime over the speakers, echoing throughout the building.

F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice rings out clearly. “Please proceed to the South exit doors. Security is sweeping the building. Any assistance you require will be provided on the lawn.”

The chime sounds again, and the message repeats. Geeta opens the door, looks both ways, and starts waving the group to follow the hallway. You sweep around the back of the room to make sure everyone is leaving, finding one holdout with his ears covered and head down, praying. He’s startled by your hand on his shoulder but soon is up and in the hall.

“That’s it. Let’s go,” you assure Geeta. Another ping from your phone sounds from the closet, so you shoo her along. “Right behind ya.”

She nods and hustles to keep the group together and moving.

You pick up the toppled crates to find your phone beneath. The newest message is from Gracie, just a string of question marks. Then there are Steve’s texts.

[3:28] : On our way back. No set ETA yet.

[3:30] : Not sure if these messages can get through yet, sorry.

[3:35] : If we get there late, you still want dinner?

[4:50] : Are you still at work? No one is responding on-site.

[4:53] : If you get this, text me.

[5:01] : Call if you can.

[5:05] : Get out of the building.

[5:07] : We are too far out. You have to hide.

[5:07] : Please hide.

[5:09] : Please be ok.

[5:13] : Tony is rebooting security.

[5:14] : They’ll set isolation protocols. Stay hidden. I’ll come find you.

[5:20] : Please be ok.

You can feel how tight his jaw was in the written words. He’s struggling to say anything when he cannot do anything to help. Your heart drops through your stomach while your stomach drops through the floor. You don’t think you have much more emotion to give until you open the door again.

Two armed agents, one leaning down to check for a pulse on the gunman, lift their weapons in surprise, but upon seeing your dress and bare feet, they apologize and tell you the same instructions as F.R.I.D.A.Y’s announcement.

The hallways are mostly empty, blinding white and ringing with echos. You’re still jumpy enough to check behind you several times as you make your way. Why does the lab have to be so far from the south side?

Your arms feel cold and numb which makes sense when you look down to see some blood spatter on your forearms and bruising on your palms from gripping your ‘weapon’ so hard.

“Jesus.”

You look up to see Steve jogging around the corner. He unbuckles and rips off his helmet as he continues to race toward you. It’s overwhelming to be seen right now, in this state, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a second, only closing when his hands cup your face.

His momentum crushes his lips to yours. You’re bent back by his sheer height and the intensity of his hold. He’s still moving forward, pushing closer and closer until your back hits the wall. Your arms blindly raise, bumping against the thick pads of his tactical suit. Despite the ferocity, his lips are soft, his touches needy and tender. You hum in pleasure though he starts to slow. The sound stokes the fire blazing in his skin against yours.

His hands shift down to snake around your back. You’re sure it’s incidental that his knuckles drag over your nipples, but your body notices and angles as far into his chest as it can. Steve holds you there like a captive, one palm at the small of your back, the other hand’s fingers buried in the hair at the nape of your neck. The only way you could be closer is to wrap your arms behind his neck. You’re a logical person, so that’s obviously your next move.

Pressed against him, you don’t have much to latch onto, and your hands roam his shoulders and hair wildly, eliciting a whine from the beast caging you. Neither of you bothers with mouth breathing, unwilling to part lips or forfeit exploring tongues. Sharp, desperate inhales sear your nostrils, filled with his scent of jet fuel, fresh air, and smoke.

Holy shit, you’re dying and super excited about it.

“Rogers!”

Steve quite literally pops away from your lips and releases his hold. Your spine sends you a little shock of reminder that you shouldn’t regularly bend that way without stretching.

Natasha stomps down the hall with a finger stabbing at Steve. “If you ever jump out of my plane again, I will personally shoot you out of the sky, find you, and break your legs.”

Steve’s blush is crimson at his neck and rosy at his cheeks. His hair is frightfully (gloriously) debauched, and his mouth hangs open, speechless. You consider that as partly due to speech being lower on its best uses.

“And you,” Romanoff barks, squaring her shoulders. “You look great.” Her words don’t come out as nice or friendly, but they flood your insides with butterflies. Romanoff winks at you, glances at Steve, and adds, “as you were, soldier,” before walking off in the opposite direction she came.

From what you gather in the coming days, the gunman in the lab was not the only casualty by a civilian employee at HQ that night. Not a lot of details are shared, but Natasha is kind enough to grant you that nugget of assurance.

Steve won’t let you go home that night, or at all, for the whole weekend. He only leaves you alone to get briefed on new intel, but mostly, he admits, he just wants to hold you. He’s said he is sorry for ‘attacking’ you as he did; he’d been so worried. Though you take issue with his description of the best snog ever, he explains he’s missed a chance before and won’t let it happen again. You’ve got a lot more to think about than just a heavy makeout session with Captain America, so you let him say his piece and try to keep your shit together.

He asks permission to do that—to keep you—just for a few days. The unwavering chivalry of the man stuns you. You get the impression that because you are surrounded by all his things and confined to his territory (albeit willingly), Steve thinks any physically intimate touch would be crossing a line. Instead, he puts on music, and you two slow dance and talk for hours at a time, in lieu of his morning runs it seems. He puts his hands on your waist when you dance, but no lower. He gives you a peck on the cheek, but nothing longer.

He insists on taking that deep, comfy couch while you sleep in his bed, in borrowed clothes again, while the lingering scent of him in the pillows puts you right out.

You have more general conversations about death on missions, one-on-one therapy sessions that he never gives much personal color to, but you can see it written all over his face that he knows what you feel. You only say an intruder got in but was ‘taken down’ before you trudged into the hall without shoes or purse. The rest you don’t explain, and Steve doesn’t pry. There will be ups and downs, you know from the quinjet incident, but both of you are a little shocked when you don’t have nightmares either night. Secretly, you attribute that to the smell of his sheets and may or may not have checked his cologne in the bathroom in order to recreate it at home.

By Sunday night, though the team hasn’t rooted out all the details, players, and leaks that led to the infiltration, you’re arguing that you have to go home. You want to come back to work in the morning like everyone else. You don’t want to draw any more attention than you already might if your team hears about what you did in the lab.

“One more song,” he pleads quietly, voice deep and tired, swaying you gently in time to crooning Elvis.

The lyrics speak of love, something modern men shy away from so early in getting to know a ‘gal,’ and you drift into thinking about Steve way back in the day. Dance halls probably always played love songs. It would be normal to hear heavy, romantic stuff, a bit like middle school dances, if you can compare the two. You don’t have the same fluttering hope now as you did when you were very young. Steve Rogers isn’t a crush for you. He’s a deeply caring and important man to the world, and you are already 90% convinced you just aren’t good enough for him, him specifically. While you’ve never been particularly down on yourself— you are intelligent and pleasant to look at—this man is…well, a specimen of actual human perfection. Physical, objective, scientific perfection. How are you supposed to live up to that, much less live near it?

You stay silent in your thoughts while Steve’s been pensive for the whole album, humming now and then at a bar he likes. Then his chin nudges your temple suddenly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone we were going to dinner?” Steve sounds a little wounded, not from a prideful cockiness but from something else you can’t place.

You shift your hand on his shoulder, licking your lips nervously. “I hadn’t heard from you all week. We hadn’t even picked somewhere to eat.”

“But you changed.” Your dress hangs on the back of the door, freshly dry-cleaned, care of Tony Stark. “So why,” Steve prompts.

You can’t look him in the eye as you answer. “I didn’t want to be…a joke when this went poorly.” You’re worrying your lip fiercely by the last words because saying that this is something feels like jinxing it.

By the time you chance a glance at him, he’s blatant in his fixation with your mouth. “And if it went well?”

You offer an enormous shrug with a twisted face. It helps put a little distance between you. “Statistically unlikely.” Though you didn’t mean to, it comes out as a cross between conclusion and hypothesis.

“So—” his eyebrows lift “—we’re doing badly so far?” His smirk is so charming, you can’t help but smile.

“This? Hmm,” you exaggerate, “not much effort in slow dancing, so sorry, buddy. I’d give it an F.”

“I always got four Fs before getting that one A. It was the only mark that mattered.” Steve enjoys the playful shove of his shoulder he receives in response but quiets. His palm adjusts on your waist, sending a sharp tickle through the muscle that pushes you flush to his chest once again. When his eyes fall to your mouth, his lashes hide the seriousness set in his clenched jaw. “Why’d you never tell anyone I broke your hand?”

It’s a fragile question from such a strong man, one you have to think about since you never considered it at the time. “Because you didn’t. You plugged a hole on a sinking ship.” The bruise still healing at the joint between thumb and forefinger on your hand stares back at your hypocrisy. While you don’t feel much guilt over actually attacking a guy to death, you feel a responsibility to make it up to the universe. How must an Avenger feel?

Steve bristles, rolls some pent-up tension out of his shoulders, and grips your waist harder, warmly, warningly. “There’re lot of things I regret—“

“—I will not be one of them.” The force behind your response startles you. It sounds like you mean to root yourself like a tree in his life, but you actually meant to stop his ruminating on things he can’t change. If it saved everyone in that quinjet, you’d let him crush three of your fingers again in a heartbeat. Hell, he can crush all of them right now if it will wipe the sullen look from his face. “Steve—“ you lift your hand from his shoulder to his cheek “—I know who you are. I don’t know all the details. I don’t know every story, but I know your character.”

The steady blue of his gaze shimmers glassy. You’re flattered that Cap is speechless, and it ain’t from kissing.

“I got hurt,” you insist. “You did not hurt me.” A long minute passes, a search for the meaning in between, and you study each other easily. Eventually, you smile and say, “I’m trying to find the words to describe you.”

Steve doesn’t skip a beat. “I’m trying to find the lines to capture you.”

A shiver races down your spine. His proximity, his vulnerability, his scent. You know that if you don’t leave now, you never will, permission or not, offered or not, but you can’t move just yet. You’re all Captain Capture’s.

“So…dinner?”

The shiver hasn’t really stopped, but the music has. Your nerves are vibrating all over, and even though it’s in anticipation, the shaking borders on pain and fear. You drop your arms away from him and cross the room. “You’ve had half a dozen meals with me now. In a row! I cannot possibly have insulted you during all of them.”

“Those weren’t proper dates.” There’s that wounded tone again.

Maybe the universe doesn’t want you to be together. Maybe it’s a sign, something protecting you from heartbreak, ridicule, or actual harm. You can’t tell if you’re mind is being mean to you or being safe. Either way, it feels like you can’t make rational decisions when surrounded by Steve Rogers. You’ve been immersed for too long and have to come up for air. This isn’t reality, at least, not for you.

“I have to go home. You said one song. Don’t get greedy.” Your bag and dress are in hand before you lose your nerve.

Steve softly mirrors your steps across the room but doesn’t reach out. He’s just too polite to stop you. He kept you for as long as you were willing to stay. The song is over.

Lamely, at the door, you say a loaded, “thank you for everything,” and leave.

: How’d you sleep?

You’ve been at work for several hours, letting the text just sit there burning a hole through your phone. You’re distracted, but honestly, everyone is a little off. They whisper about theories of the infiltration. Some of the rumors are patently ludicrous, so those are the ones you repeat. Makes it look like you know nothing, which you don’t, and if you did, you’d have no clue how to explain it.

Ironically, Gracie and Dodson are having a harder time in different ways than you. Gracie was caught in her car when the complex locked down. She had to stay hidden in there for nearly forty-five minutes without any idea what was happening. No calm, repeating announcement could be heard on the road or lawn. Dodson, however, apparently was almost at the front door when shots were fired. He has minor cuts on his face and hands where glass fell and he crawled out of the way with others. Whereas Gracie is boisterous, Jeremiah Dodson sits at his station so quietly that Banner pats his shoulder and tells him to take off when he’s ready for lunch. His wife will want him home.

So you’ve lucked out. There are enough stories and emotions flying around that no one bothers you. You actually get into a good stride, bustling around, helping Dodson for a bit, promising to take his work for the afternoon with no trouble. You’re more than grateful for Cap’s help now.

Everyone has taken a break but you. Dr. Banner even walks by to say you should eat before it’s mid-afternoon, so you think it’s his hand on your desk again thirty minutes later.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” you chirp, plastering on a pout.

Steve Rogers stands at your desk for the whole lab to see, and they are silent.

“Would you like to go to lunch?” He’s gentle and calm, leaning back to replace his hand in his pocket.

Gracie’s “oh my fucking god” is audible from across the room.

Oh yeah, you’re a smooth talker with your squeaky “sure,” but Steve beams all the same.

He turns slightly to jut out an elbow. “Good. I’d like to walk out with you.” It’s not so soft that no one can hear, but the words are still wholly for you. He watches you scramble a bit before adding, “You won’t need your things.”

He’s asked this before. You’ve said yes before. You’ve spent more time with this man than anyone in the lab save for Bruce Banner. You’ve spoken on and off in multiple capacities for nearly nine months, but it still feels new. People can see that Steve came to this room for you. People can hear him speak to you. People are watching him wait for you. Only you.

The blush on your cheeks feels ferocious and hot, but Steve still smiles as you wrap just your fingers into the crook of his elbow. After a few paces, your steps match up quite easily, and you can feel your brazen self kick in again.

“So this is what happens when Captain Steve gets desperate…”

He glances down at you and simply says, “darn tootin’.”

(Continued in Do You Two...Fondue?)

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[just-antithings]

i’m a harry potter fan and i get **antsy** about it bc i’m transgender and the only reason i still, **i guess**, interact with the fandom is because I Do Not Control The Special Interest.

that being said, i keep seeing posts from people that are like “i don’t care why you like harry potter! i don’t care if you’re also trans or if you’re neurodivergent or whatever! if you like harry potter, you support jkr because she says that she’s any support of her works as support of her opinions!”

and i feel like i can’t be uncomfortable because i get why they’re saying something like that. i mean, her transphobia has very much affected the trans community, the community in the i’m in particular. it fucking sucks.

that being said, i don’t think its necessarily *that* black and white? idk, like:

1. even if she takes people being in fandom as agreeing with her, jkr doesn’t get a say in what opinions i do or don’t support. i am not a terf because i read fanfic sometimes. she and i don’t know each other. she does not get to say what i do and don’t believe based off of what i read or watch (and i personally feel like her saying that was kind of egotistical and presumptuous).

2. my “support” of harry potter isn’t even really support. i don’t buy anything related to harry potter and i don’t feel the need to. i don’t consume any new thing she makes, harry potter related or otherwise (to be honest, i don’t think of her as a good writer, anyways). the only time i even interact with content relating to harry potter is either on ao3 or tumblr or i rewatch the movies that were gifted to me years ago. she receives zero money and attention from me beyond that.

3. one of my favorite things to do, as a *~fan~* is talk about how much i don’t like jkr and why, how much i don’t like her writing and why, how fucked up some of the stuff she’s made is and why, and what i think could be improved about the series. i think some of these are important to, at the very least, *discuss*—like, i think it’s important to address her racism, antisemeticism, transphobia, homophobia, mysogyny, etc. because just *leaving it* isn’t helpful. the only people i’ve seen do that (though, it might just be bc of the content i interact with) are either former or present fans.

4. i feel like it’s a bad idea to just up and stop being a fan because she���s a terf? i mean. if you don’t *want* to be in fandom anymore because of it, that’s totally fine and i get that. but if every trans person and every person who support trans people just up and leave the fandom, the only people left will be people who don’t have a “side” and terfs, who love to spread misinformation and convert people to terfdom. maybe i’m wrong, but to me that feels like….giving them a space to spread their ideology. i’d rather just continue to be part of fandom and make trans related content (i actively head canon most of the characters as trans and i do incorporate it into the things i make).

5. i’ve seen some people use this as an excuse to be rude towards specifically trans mascs, for some reason? like, i saw a post (one of the “fuck off if you like harry potter” ones) where, in the tags, op wrote something like “idc if you’re transgender and tme shut up” and that’s….certainly a choice.

idk. it’s not really an anti thing but i’ve been having all these thoughts about it and i’ve seen them reflected next to nowhere so i’m having anxiety about still being a fan lol.

maybe i’m just missing something or “the point” is flying over my head but i just. i dont think i’m hurting anyone by enjoying hp and i think that taking out your (general you) aggression towards jkr on fans, especially trans fans, is a bit of an odd decision.

also, sorry if any of this post was weirdly worded or mistyped, i was a bit all over the place as i wrote this. i hope you guys have a good day.

.