#‘the problem right now is just that it’s directed against the wrong kind of people! not that oppression is horrible!’

[punkeropercyjackson]

HM How do i put this.So people often think 'punk' and 'asshole' are synomyous and this causes problems when it comes to character interpretations(and irl too ofc but that's for a future post).Now i'm not saying you can't be punk and an asshole because that would be absolutely stupid and just incorrect but the latter does not make the former and you shouldn't force anyone to when they're not even if they're fictional since how you treat characters who're part of a group reflects how you think of the irl one

I'm gonna use the example that prompted this post:Spiderpunk aka Hobie Brown.Hobie is often characterized as mean-spirited and perverted because he's explicitly meant as the embodiment of black punks but the thing is,in the actual movie and og comics,Hobs is an incredibly sweet and gentle person and if you think i'm being ridicilous for saying that about the dude who kills fascists and runs his mouth all the time,consider that direct action is not an act of cruelty but kindness towards oppressed people by helping them have a safer world and that Hobie's only actually rude to authority figures and with everyone else he's just goofy.He's also pretty open with how much he loves his friends and always has their backs and i find it very odd how often he gets assumed to be an extremely sexual person when there were never even any under the radar adult jokes about or by him and the smoker headcanon for him is baseless too and pretty obviously only happens for sex appeal

And that's a general problem with both canonical and popularly headcanon punk characters-Most fandom members think punk is 1.Exclusively male and 2.Inherently made to make yourself attractive.There's nothing wrong with finding punk men super hot but there IS a lot wrong is assigning punkhood to them with that intention alone,especially often the characters are not only just EdgyTM but also straight up fascists(Hp and Marauders Flop Era 'kinnies',please touch grass)

This leads to defanging of punk female characters.Katara is a classic example and Zuko is a rich boy with weird biases he's very open about that didn't fade until adulthood while Katara is an eco-terrorist who reclaims girlhood for herself by being anti-traditionalist and feminine in her own way yet Zuko is always the punk of the Gaang in aus.Stephanie Brown and not a girl but Duke Thomas are a poor woman who grew up friendless and abused by her dad and had a drug addict mom so she became a vigilante at 14 to help people like her and is implied to be a metalhead and a black boy who grew up getting kicked out schools and in and out of foster homes and joined a gang of crime fighters respectively but Stephanie is called scene instead(cause pastel punks don't exist right /s)and Duke is turned a meek black boyloser stereotype so that Jason Todd can be the punk Batkid instead,which is certainly......a choice seeing as Under The Red Hood is basically about him doing freestyle death penalty and is not actively an activist even if he does enjoy helping people and does whenever he has the opportunity to by narrative.Very important sidenote is that Stephanie and Duke are often entierly erased from Batman fan content despite being Jason's Batgirl and Robin and i think you can guess why(that obviously the coolest Batkid has to be the fan favorite white boy /s x2)

And i feel the need to include this one due to my url and that is Percy Jackson.Percy is representation for audhd and dyslexic people who can never mask and got bullied and abused for it but remained kind against all world's cruelty and choose to help others since they wanted the world to be like that to them as a kid instead but they ALSO aren't a pussy about it so they openly stand up to corrupted people and refuse to be like them no matter how hard they try to get them to and they openly hate them for what they're like and they act like a parental figure to younger minorities.Their creator stated he never inteded Percy as being bisexual and has no interest in it but he also said he'd be happy and supportive of Percy being played by a poc one day and within the books Percy is extremely transfem-coded so obviously the fandom pops several blood vessels when literally any of this is aknowledged because they read the wrong books and wanted a white male power fantasy in ancient greek gays flavor

You can be super nice and punk because punk is a subculture,not an entire personality type.And i hate to break it to edgecases on here but being super mean to people without a justified reason because you think it's cool or finding irresistibly hot on others is one of the most normal things you can do

#pastel punk tag #afropunk #solarpunk #anarchism #hobie brown #katara #zuko #anti zutara #stephanie brown #duke thomas #jason todd #anti batcest #percy jackson #spiderpunk #punk katara #pastel punk stephanie brown #punk!percy #pro kataang #blasian stephanie brown #perseo jackson #transfem percy jackson #black percy #latino percy #autistic percy jackson #persephone jackson #team parent percy jackson #anti luke castellan #pjo gods slander #summerposting #anti harry potter

[ihadlife]

Achilles' Heel

pairing: (aged up) pro hero!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: You and Bakugo aren't dating, so you can't be really mad when he's toying with you. What you can be, though, is miserable. Especially when you get laid off from work. And to whose else's arms can you run into other than the person who's hurting you the most. 

tags: 18+, adult content, fem!reader, fem gendered pronouns and pet names, angst, so much fucking angst, baby trapping, unprotected sex, dumbification, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talking, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, impact play, unrequited love, reader and other people smoke, reader has crippling mommy issues and self-isolates, the worst possible decisions ever made at all times, toxicity contest between reader and Bakugo i guess

an: crossposted on ao3. reader makes decisions so bad i wanted to smack her head against concrete all the time. if you're reading this for the smut i suggest you skip this one, it's not centered around it. it was pain in the ass to write bakugo’s direct speech but if it doesn’t make sense from an accent standpoint i’m begging you let me know and i’ll adjust it. and as always, english is my second language so if you spot any mistakes or even typos pls let me know.

“I get that he was like… busy, and probably exhausted after, but he could’ve sent me a message at least, you know?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you he’s a dick.” 

Your best friend inhaled the cold autumn air through the tobacco and filter in their cigarette, filling their lungs with smoke before exhaling it, letting it mix with the breeze. 

“He’s not a dick… there’s just a lot on his plate.” You tried defending him, but even to your own ears, the words that had left your mouth sounded pathetic and feeble. “God knows how I would’ve acted if I had his job.” 

You were looking down at your own hands, playing with the handle of the mug that was now empty, the coffee in it long gone. You didn’t even have to look up to know that your friend was giving you a dirty look. 

To be fair, they weren't completely wrong. You still couldn’t get behind their words – a dick – but you more or less agreed with their general idea: he wasn’t treating you right and you deserved better. 

Knowing and realising all that, you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. 

“You would’ve been honest and communicated.” They took another drag through their cigarette. “And he should be too. If he wants to keep a relationship.” 

The truth was, he had a demanding job. Being a pro hero and saving people’s lives almost every single day was taxing. Not only physically, but also mentally. You understood that. You had let him know that you understood. 

Still, as your friend said, and even as your own head was telling you, wanting him to communicate his needs and intentions beforehand was the bare minimum. Not even letting a problem arise and preventing it. Because he should have cared. 

The thing that hurt you the most was that it hadn’t always been like that. 

At the start, when you two met, he was attentive. Funny. Kind. Charming. You were sure he was still the same person, only not towards you. Not anymore, at least.

You entertained your friend and they tried to distract you from your own thoughts for about another hour before you both got up and went separate ways, counting on seeing each other sometime in the next two weeks again. Not that any of you could make it longer without seeing each other. 

You decided to take the longer walk home, hop to a small market on your way and buy some necessities you needed. Maybe pick up something small to treat yourself. 

Your heels were clapping on the sidewalk loudly, your tempo moderate. Your feet hurt after spending the entire day in your heels and once again you cursed yourself for choosing this type of footwear when you had known you would have to spend an entire day in them. There was a huge blister forming on your right Achilles, you were sure. 

You fished your phone from your purse without even thinking about it, your thumbs moving on the screen as if they’d had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was a muscle memory at this point. 

You opened the messages app on your phone and stared at the screen. Maybe hoping that if you stared long and hard enough, you would somehow manifest his response. Or maybe he would even open and read the message instead of leaving you on delivered. 

I’m sorry to hear that! You really should take a few days off, you deserve it :( 

Pathetic. 

Scoffing at yourself you put your phone back into your purse and entered the small market. After greeting the lady who owned the shop you grabbed a basket and started browsing the isles. 

You liked this market. The owner was aloof, she never asked you personal questions. You had been going here for long enough for the lady to remember you, you were one of the regular customers, yet she treated you like a stranger every time. 

You appreciated that. This kind of curtness. 

You began your usual route around the small store – a route you’d walked so many times you would be able to walk it with a scarf around your eyes without bumping into a single thing. 

You idly strolled through the shop, picking up the stuff you needed. 

Toast bread. 

A premade sandwich with cheese, ham, and cucumber. 

Spam ham. 

Canned fish. 

A few packets of instant ramen. 

Cheap coffee. 

Two single rolls of toilet paper. 

Two bottles of soju. 

Your feet stopped once you were in front of the register. You put the basket on the counter with a tiny smile and waited for the owner to scan the items. 

Your eyes slid from the small woman to the stand next to the register, where the magazines were, all kinds together. The serious ones and the ones that just wrote about celebrity gossip. Living and lifestyle ones. Ones for teenagers. Weekly sudokus and crossword puzzles. 

You weren’t the same scared, shy, uncertain intern as you were a few years ago. You’ve earned your place in the publishing company; you were a proper columnist at that point. So when your boss had assigned you the interview with the pro hero that would be the main feature of the next issue, you had been elated and had readily accepted the task. You had been sure this would help further your career. Maybe help you get a raise. 

As you had soon learned, you might have been a good columnist, but you were still very much naive. You hadn’t gotten a raise. Nor had the feature helped the career. 

What you’ve gotten out of the interview, however, was your phone number in Dynamight’s phone. 

“Thanks for the interview, it was great.” You smiled and closed your laptop right after saving the file. 

“No, ya were great.” 

You laughed a little, bashful, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you put your laptop into its case and into your faux leather bag that was resting against the chair you were sitting in. 

“I mean it,” he leaned back in his luxurious office chair, his elbows resting on the arms of the seat. “Most of the interviews I do are real uncomfortable. People love bein’ nosy and invadin’ my  fuckin’ privacy.” 

“You can’t blame them,” you grinned. “Of course, they wanna know everything about one of the most popular heroes.” 

“And ya?” He asked after a slight pause and butted his chin in your direction. 

“Me?” 

“D’ya wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the most popular hero?” 

You didn’t miss the way he changed ‘one of the most popular’ to ‘most popular’. Shameless. 

“Uhm,” you bit your lower lip, not really sure what to answer. 

“Lemme take ya out.”

You couldn’t deny his attractiveness. His cockiness and the roughness around the edges were more alluring than you would like to admit. 

“Okay.” You breathed out and gave him a nervous smile. 

Were you ready to go on a date with a pro hero though? 

“Sorry?” You apologised to the woman when you realised she had said something. 

She repeated the total price to you. 

Oh, right. 

You fumbled with your purse a little and fished out your wallet. 

“Could you please add a bag to that?” 

The woman grabbed one plastic bag from under the counter and put it on top of the things you purchased, not bothering to bag them. 

“Actually… I would also like some cigarettes. And a lighter.” You put your wallet on the counter and started bagging the groceries yourself. 

“What kind?” Was all she said, but you didn’t miss the judgy look she gave you. 

“Gold Marlboro.” 

She turned around to retrieve the cigarette box and basic, plastic lighter in a bright blue colour and handed them to you. 

You finished bagging your stuff quickly, paid for it and with a goodbye exited the market. 

A silent groan left your lips when you felt the rocky cement underneath your feet again, the back of your shoe digging into your Achilles more than before. The blister was going to be a big one. 

The rest of the route to your home was uneventful. Thankfully. Once you opened the front door of the crappy building where you lived, you stood in front of the elevator. 

It was old, unreliable, and just barely held together. This is why you usually took the stairs, but the painful cushion filled with fluid made you reconsider your actions. You looked from the elevator to your feet. It was either the stairs which would abuse your blister even more, or the risky elevator. 

You sighed as you carefully stepped out of the heels. 

“Shit.” 

The blister that formed on your Achilles during the day must have popped and was now bleeding. Your entire heel and the inside of your shoe were stained with red that was slowly turning brown; the edges were crusty and flaking.  

“Great.” 

You bent down to pick up the bloody shoes in your free hand and started walking up the stairs. The stone and occasional tiles of the floor were just a tad too cool on your soles but you didn’t necessarily mind the sensation. It felt nice on your slightly swollen feet after the entire day. 

Once you made it to the seventh floor – your floor – you stopped in front of the door to your apartment, and with a loud bang let the shoes fall from your hand to the floor. The bag with your groceries followed suit and soon you were trying to fish out your keys from your faux leather shoulder bag. 

Your phone started vibrating, set on silent mode. Scrambling to quickly pick it up, you found your phone in record time and checked the caller’s ID, hoping to find a certain hero’s name on the display. 

Your eyebrows furrowed a little when you found out it was your mother calling you. Inhaling deeply and breathing out through your nose, you slid your finger over the screen and put the phone against your ear. 

“Hi, mom!” Your voice was too high-pitched as you greeted her. You leaned your head heavily to the side and squished the phone between your ear and your shoulder to keep your hand empty. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You pulled a face at the pet name. You hated loving it. 

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Is it important?” You slightly fumbled with your bag as you kept trying to find your keys. 

“Oh, no, I just wanted to call and ask how you’re doing,” you could hear the smile in her voice. 

“I’m doing fine! Listen, would it be alright if I call you tomorrow? I’ve got a lot of things I still gotta do today.” You were lying through your teeth. 

It took only a few more seconds of conversation with her, and you both agreed on a call the next day when you ‘have more time’. You tossed the phone in your bag and rummaged through all the things once again before you found your keys in the bottom corner of your bag and unlocked the door. 

 First, you walked into the small and cramped hall of your apartment and put down your purse, then just halfway stepped out of your flat to retrieve your shoes and finally the bag with groceries. 

Eventually, you closed and locked the door behind you, the grocery bag in your arms as you stepped into the apartment that was way too small to even fit a single person. Not even two steps later you were in your living room and bedroom and after three more steps and turning the corner twice you were standing in the ‘kitchen’. ‘Kitchen’ with quotation marks, because the very few cabinets with a sink and without a proper oven could hardly count as a regular kitchen. 

The apartment was horrible. It was in a worse part of town – not necessarily the worst, but bad enough. The prefabricated block of flats was old and in desperate need of renovation; the plaster on the outside of the building was slowly crumbling, the insolation was thinner than the walls between apartments, the pipes were rusty, and you heard that several neighbours of yours from lower levels had complained about mould. 

Most of the people here, except for a few old grandmas and young women around your age, were unfriendly. The neighbours, with whom you shared one of the living room walls, were too loud. 

Oftentimes, there were strange smells, ones you could not identify or describe. Whether they were lingering in the hall of the building or, for some godforsaken reason, in your own flat, they always lasted only a couple of hours. 

During your walks up and down the stairs to get to or from work, you’d meet people who’d make you cross the street if you met them in the city at night. They were mostly younger men with pronounced eyebags and a strut that was either overconfident or not confident enough. 

The only reason you stayed there was because it was cheap and the commute to your work from here was alright. Even with a salary that was too low for the job you did, you were able to afford it and even save a little bit of money on the side for any possible emergencies. 

You set the grocery bag on the counter and went back into the hall to take your probably ruined shoes, bringing them to your minuscule bathroom and setting them on the floor in your shower, deciding on trying to salvage them later. 

On your way back to the living room you took your work bag with you. Opening the window first and letting the cold autumn breeze in, you sat down on the couch and fished around in your bag once again, looking for the cigarettes and lighter that you put separately into your purse. Once you found it, you chucked the bag without any care on the floor and leaned back on the couch, putting your bare feet up on the coffee table. 

You hissed as the raw meat on the back of your heel came into contact with the old glass top of the table that needed some proper cleaning, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, you took a single cigarette out of the package and rested it between your lips, inhaling at the same time as your fingers brought the fire from the lighter to life. 

You left the cigarette hung from your mouth, held by your dry lips, and leaned your head back, your hands splayed on the sides of your body. 

The fact was, you were exhausted. 

And you didn’t even have a good reason for it. 

Sure, work sucked. You worked like a dog only to be constantly overlooked and not earn enough. You were lying to your own mother every time you talked, pretending you were much more successful than you actually were, trying to get on her good side and receive any bit of praise. You hated living in your apartment. You were seeing a man who probably didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him. 

The only good thing was your high school friend, always by your side and ready to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen. 

Maybe you should go see a therapist. 

You closed your eyes and deeply breathed in the stale air that refused to move even with the window opened through the tobacco and filter. You wondered what Bakugo was doing right now. Maybe he was working on the paperwork in his office, sitting behind the big, wooden table that you’d once seen. Or maybe he was out, patrolling with one of his sidekicks, walking in the streets. Maybe he was covered with fake sweat, flexing his muscles for a shoot for another men's magazine. 

Your mind lingered on the image of that. 

His healthily tanned skin taut over his herculean muscles, the drops of water rolling down and creating a web of moisture, leaving goosebumps behind. 

You pressed your thighs together, putting a small amount of pressure on the nether part of your body. 

You thought back to all the passionate moments you’d spent with the pro hero. Bakugo might have been getting on your nerves lately due to his behaviour but he was an exceptional lover. He was the best you’d ever had, not that you would admit it out loud. That fiery personality of his projected itself well in the bedroom. 

You brought your hand to the cigarette between your lips, took it away from the dry skin and shook off the stack of ash that was growing bigger and bigger at the end of the tobacco. Even though the hot ash landed on the floor covered by very cheap linoleum that was slowly peeling in some corners, you didn’t care. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, princess,” Bakugo was panting above you, the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead, neck, and chest and occasionally landing on your damp skin. 

Your pussy was drooling on his dick, your juices wet on your inner thighs as well as his entire crotch and lower abdomen. He was bullying your body with his cock, repeatedly slamming it in and out of you at a fast pace. 

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. You didn’t even know what you were asking him — to slow down? To change the angle? To fuck you harder? Your brain was a mush at that point and all you could think about was him, him, him. 

“Not my name, sweetheart,” he grinned and slapped the top of your cunt with his hand, successfully hitting your clit. 

You winced and tried to comprehend what he just said to you. Once the words registered, you corrected your mistake. 

“Dyna- Dynamight!” His hero name on your lips was cut in half by your gasp. 

“There we go.” He praised you. He didn’t move his hands from your hips when he angled them more, making your back arch and your pussy more open for him. “Your pussy fits me like a fuckin’ glove.” 

Your head was swimming from all the sensations. Bakugo’s dirty talking, his hot breath hitting your calves while your legs were propped up on his shoulders, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, the tip of his dick dragging along your warm walls while he made sure you could feel him for several days to come. 

“Look at ya,” he continued. “My dick feels so good’ya can’t even think, huh? Did I fuck ya dumb, princess?” There was a mocking tone to his voice while he talked. 

In a normal situation, if you were having sex with anybody else, you would’ve been embarrassed. Both about the mocking and also about the fact that he was right. To be fair, none of your exes were able to fuck you good enough to get you into this state. But with Bakugo you couldn’t even manage to form thoughts coherent enough to feel the embarrassment at the moment. 

“Dynamight,” was all you managed to let slip from your lips. 

With the cigarette still between your lips, you unbuttoned your trousers and pushed your dominant hand under the fabric of your panties, the tight cotton sandwiching your fingers between the textile and your cunt. 

You circled your entrance to gather some moisture, your pussy just starting to get wet. With the now slick pad of your finger, you moved it upward, tucking it a little underneath the hood to touch your clit directly. 

Breathing out cigarette smoke from your nostrils, you leaned your head back, resting it against the headrest of your couch. With your eyes closed and a gentle sigh leaving your lips, you started moving the finger in circular motions. 

“That’s right, princess.” 

Your eyes were watering as you tried to swallow around the thickness of his cock in your throat. 

“Fuck yeah, just like that.” His grip on your hair tightened. You were running out of air and fighting your gag reflex when you put your palms on his strong thighs, ready to tap out at the last second in case you needed to. “Choke on my dick.” 

Your nose scrunched up against the neatly trimmed pubes as you gagged hard and you quickly tapped his thigh. Bakugo didn’t release your hair, instead, he tugged your head backwards so you would get him out of your mouth quickly. Your lips were red and swollen, covered in your own spit and as well as his precum, parted as you panted for air. Two tears rolled down both of your cheeks as you looked up at the man standing in front of you. 

“Good girl,” he sadistically grunted through his gritted teeth. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t ya?” 

You closed your eyes as he gently, almost affectionately, slapped your cheek a few times. 

“Open,” was all he said as he pushed two fingers into your mouth, reaching so far into your throat it made you gag again. 

You grabbed the butt of the cigarette with your hand that wasn’t down your pants and leaned over to your coffee table to put it out against the glass. Leaving the butt there, you reclined against the couch once again, moving your finger from your clit back to your entrance, adding a second one to cover them both in your wetness and pushing them inside of you, immediately targeting your g-spot. 

“Don’t stop.” 

Bakugo’s hand on your hip helped with guiding your movements, effectively pushing you up and down on his cock as you rode him. You were so close to him your nipples were rubbing against his chest with every motion and you were practically breathing each other’s air. The tip of him was deep inside of you and rubbed against your g-spot each time you moved. Your arms were resting on his shoulders. One hand was leaning your weight against his trapezius and the other one against the god-awfully expensive leather sofa of his which you were probably staining now. 

“Fuck,” he groaned so quietly you were only able to hear him thanks to the proximity. “You’re mine, do you understand?” His other hand, which wasn’t holding your hip but was snaked around your waist and pushing in between your shoulder blades so that you would be close to him, moved upwards and firmly, but not forcefully, squeezed the back of your neck. The gesture only made you feel that much closer to him. You nodded your head as fast as you could, but that was not enough of an answer for him. 

“Say it. Say you’re mine.” 

There was a certain desperation in his voice. Desperation that you heard for the first time with him. 

“I’m yours.” 

The words silently left your lips with a puff of air following suit. Bakugo wasted no time and kissed your lips passionately, seemingly putting all his feelings into it. 

But you knew better. 

“Say it again.” 

“I’m yours.” 

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your bag next to the sofa disrupted you. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out an angry grunt. 

You debated not picking it up and calling whoever it was that interrupted you later, but decided against it when you felt a considerable amount of guilt in your throat. What if it was important? 

You quickly pulled your hand out of your trousers and wiped your wet fingers on your blouse, leaving shiny, sticky splotches behind. Fumbling with the bag a little, you managed to find your phone just in time, not even looking at the caller ID as you swiped your finger against the screen and put it against your ear. 

“Hey.” 

Your body froze a little at the sound of the unusually cheery voice on the other end. He must have had a pretty good day, judging by his tone. 

“Uh, hi.” 

“Ya busy?” 

You straightened on the sofa and tried to clear your throat as discreetly as possible. 

“No, I was just cooking, sorry.” Lie. 

“Cool. Listen, we haven’t seen each other for a while so I wanted to call ya.” 

“That’s nice of you.” Bare. Fucking. Minimum. 

“Yeah. I can’t really talk now, I’m ‘bout to go grab a few beers with my mates. I’ll call ya later, so we can talk properly, yeah?” 

“Oh, sure.” You turned your head to look at the clock on the wall in your kitchen. It was already nearing eight o’clock, just how late did he mean to call? 

“Alright. I’ll talk to ya later.” 

He ended the call sooner than you could say goodbye. 

Your hand that was holding the phone to your ear fell limply against the couch with the device still between your fingers. You didn’t know if his call made you feel happy or even more pathetic. 

It was good that he called you, right? He obviously wanted to check up on you. And also promised to call you again later. 

So why were you feeling like this? Where did this feeling come from? 

You gulped the saliva that gathered between your teeth and the flesh of your cheek, accidentally swallowing a bit of air as well. 

No, you thought to yourself. He was trying. That was good enough for you. For now. 

You raised your hand with your phone again and unlocked it, opening a food delivery app. You debated between classic pizza and maybe something healthier, but your finger ultimately landed on the pizza picture on your screen, successfully tapping it into the cart. You chose the address for delivery and type of payment and locked your phone.  

Releasing a deep breath, you stood up and with your phone still in your hand walked the few steps to your bed. The pizza was supposed to be delivered in 30-60 minutes. Might as well masturbate properly with your vibrator in the meantime. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

After giving yourself two orgasms, eating the entire pizza and drinking several shots of soju, you fell asleep on your sofa just a few minutes after midnight. Bakugo didn’t call. 

»»————-　　————-««

It was several days later that you heard from him again. This time, he didn’t even bother with calling you; he decided that two texts would suffice. 

hey, sorry for not calling you the other day, i got wasted 

you wanna see each other sometime again? ;) 

‘That’s not a proper apology. Send him to hell.’ your friend replied when you sent them a screenshot of said messages. 

You were sitting behind the desk you were assigned at work, your hands idly resting on the keyboard of your computer, but your eyes were glued to your phone that lay locked next to your cup of coffee. You should send him a reply. 

“Do you have a minute?” 

You jerked in your seat involuntarily, the sudden proximity of the voice effectively scaring you. Your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face, when you realised you were caught slacking off. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied to your boss, not exactly enthusiastically. 

“Great.” He gave you a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes and quickly left his lips and tapped the side of your cubicle a few times before he turned around and started walking towards his office, obviously expecting you to follow. 

You cleared your throat and got up from your seat, tugged your pencil skirt down a little and followed him as quickly as you could in the garment that was sexy and elegant, but also restrictive. 

You closed the door once you stepped into the personal office that was separated by glass walls from the rest of the cubicles where you and your colleagues worked. 

“Sit down.” Your boss moved his hand in the general direction of the seat that was positioned in front of his desk. 

The table was made of a grey and white particle board, as well as all the desks you and others worked on. The carpet in his office was originally the same shade of dark blue as the rest of the entire floor, but was less walked on and therefore managed to retain its colour better than the carpet in the rest of the space. 

The window behind his back that you were facing and that he liked to stare out of so often was as bleak as it always is this time of the year. The strange shift between autumn and winter when the weather gets even colder and the days even shorter, when you usually reach for your second-hand wool coat before leaving your apartment. 

“We need to talk.” 

You were fucked. 

»»————-　　————-««

Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you held the phone in your hand. 

When are you free? We need to talk. 

A small part of you wished Bakugo cared about you enough to actually get stressed after reading your message. But the more rational part of you knew that that wasn’t the case. The pro-hero with a super-inflated ego wouldn’t get anxious due to a mildly threatening message from an average journalist who had had his balls in her mouth not so long ago. 

Unemployed journalist. 

You debated calling your mother but ultimately decided against it. You weren’t in the headspace to deal with that kind of phone call. 

You also considered calling your friend. 

You didn’t, though. 

You knew they would pity you. You didn’t want people to pity you. You just needed somebody to listen. And maybe a hug. But none of the people you were in contact with or that were in your life would ever just listen. 

So you were left all alone with all these feelings that felt just too heavy on your chest. A lead that made it hard to breathe, a lead that your muscles had to actively fight against to fill your lungs with much-needed air. A lead that made you drag your feet against the pavement. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand. 

this thursday at 5pm, come to my apartment

You didn’t even open the message to properly read it, your eyes just skimmed over the message in the notification on your lock screen before you stuffed the electronic device in your bag once again. 

Good, you thought for yourself. You had three days to somewhat get your shit together before visiting him. As much as you had feelings for a certain pro-hero, you were not about to let him see you like this. 

Especially not since you were determined to end whatever the weird situationship between the two of you was. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

You rested the back of your head against the cool mirror behind you. The extra thick layer of concealer underneath your eyes to hide the dark circles was slowly creasing even though you’d used enough powder to set it… you could almost feel it. 

The Visine in your eyes to make them appear whiter and not like you cried just this morning felt unnatural – too watery and a tiny bit stingy when you closed your eyes for long enough. 

Your thought process? Don’t let him see your weakness. Don’t look like you actually care about this ‘relationship’. Could you even call it that? Could you call this situationship a relationship when he kept you secret from the public and his friends as well? When all he ever wanted to do with you lately was to fuck you? 

The odd smell of the hairspray that you had used deliberately to keep your hair bouncy was almost palpable in the air, even though you used quite a lot of perfume. Those two smells as well as the lingering stench of a cigarette you smoked earlier combined were almost suffocating you, pressing down on your person, making you feel smaller and smaller. 

The supposedly calming music that was playing in the elevator was paradoxically making you even more nervous. 

The trousers you decided to wear that day made your ass look extra good, but cut into your stomach every time you sat down – a decision you, again, made on purpose. To get it over with quicker. You can’t even really sit down with these on. Plus, obviously, it wouldn’t be bad to remind him what he was going to lose, right? One last look at your ass was all you were going to grant him. 

Saying that you were uncomfortable was an understatement. 

You lost your job just a few days ago. It was clear to you you’d have to consider moving soon; the shitty apartment you lived in was cheap, but not cheap enough to keep while unemployed. And now, on top of your job and an apartment, you were about to lose him. 

Maybe it was a good thing, though. Even though he made you feel like you were on cloud nine in the beginning, showering you with affection and spending most of his free time with you, lately all you’d been getting from whatever was happening between you two was stress and anxiety. Self-doubt. More insecurities. 

Besides, were you really going to lose him? Could a person lose something they’ve never had in the first place? 

Your mind wandered on its own to your favourite memory with him. It was still quite fresh, you could remember it as if it had happened a few days ago, even though in reality it had been weeks. 

Your head resting on Bakugo’s thigh, the sound of the television and the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair inevitably lulling you to sleep. Your belly was comfortably full thanks to the amazing dinner Bakugo had cooked for you. 

“You’re sleepin’.” 

“Am not.” You replied, but you could hear it in your own voice, the tiredness and how you slightly slurred your words, your eyes still closed. His smell and proximity was just making you feel so, so safe.

A sigh left your lips as your hand moved on its own and started rummaging in the small purse that you’d brought with you. The fluorescent light in the elevator did nothing to flatter your appearance, quite the opposite, actually. You found the lip gloss you were wearing that day in the depths of your bag and reapplied it generously. You gave yourself another look in the mirror as you stuffed the small thing back into the bag. 

God, it looked like you’d tried too hard. 

Quickly, with only a few stories left, you tried to card your fingers through your hair to make them messier and ruin your appearance a little. Your hand flew to your lips to wipe off all the gloss you’d just put on as the door of the elevator opened to Bakugo’s floor. 

You hesitantly stepped inside of the apartment and took off your shoes, the elevator door closing behind you. Leaving your coat and scarf on the hanger that was situated in the dead end of the hallway, you then stepped in the other direction to actually get further into the flat. 

Your feet were quiet on the overpriced Persian runner rug, so you called his name to announce your arrival. 

“Hey.” 

You were looking directly at his back as you walked into the more open space and the centre of the floor. With his back to you and broad shoulders covered by a simple oversized black hoodie, he was standing right in front of a kitchen counter, probably mixing something judging by the sound of it. 

“Hi.” You replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm that laced it whenever you were with him. You put your purse on the couch in the living area and walked closer to where Bakugo was standing. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” He said without raising his head or really looking at you. 

When you came close enough, you were actually able to see what he was cooking – tamagoyaki. 

“Not really.” You’d kill for some tamagoyaki at that moment, to be honest. “I'm not planning on staying long, actually.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your weight against the kitchen counter, resting your hip against it. 

“Hm.” Was all he said. 

You watched as he poured another part of the egg mixture into the pan, helping it spread by tilting the metal and sort of pushing the liquid with chopsticks. 

Bakugo was an amazing chef. You’d asked him about it when you were eating curry rice during one of the occasions that you’d visited his flat and his response was a grunt and cookin’s not that hard. 

“You know why I’m here, right?” You asked. 

You hoped that he would say it first. Yer leavin’ me. You had prayed that he would say it, make it easier for you. Spare you from having to force air over your vocal cords and formulate the sounds with your tongue and lips. 

He didn’t. 

The silence stretched on as he seemingly minded his business, rolling the tamagoyaki into a perfect little roll and adding more egg mixture. 

“I can’t…” You started but cut yourself off. You gave it another thought before you started again. “This has to end.” 

Bakugo didn’t move a single muscle to indicate any sort of reaction he might’ve had. You watched him finally move as he took two bowls out of his kitchen cabinet and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen aisle. 

“Siddown, food’s almost ready.” 

He started filling the bowls with steaming rice straight from the rice cooker while the egg was frying on the pan. 

“I said I’m not hungry. I’m not here to eat.” 

“And I didn’ ask.” 

“Stop treating me like a child.” Anger was gathering in the pit of your stomach, twisting it more than it already was. 

“Then stop actin’ like one.” 

A moment of silence. 

You were speechless. 

A lump formed in your throat, successfully gagging you and preventing you from defending yourself. You could feel them, the tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall over your lower lash line and roll down your cheeks. 

“Please, siddown so ya can eat your food.” 

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and just nodded your head, not trusting your voice to keep steady. Without another word, you walked around the kitchen aisle and sat down on one of the tall bar stools, resting your forearms on the cold granite countertop. The stone was cold enough to sting your already cold skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. 

After not even two minutes the meal appeared in front of you – a bowl of rice, another bowl of miso soup with tofu, a plate filled with cut tamagoyaki and a small bowl of steamed spinach with garlic. 

“Eat up,” Bakugo said as he put his own bowls and plate on the countertop, sitting next to you. 

The food was warm, filling your tummy with a nice feeling. 

“It’s delicious.” You complimented after a few careful bites. You meant it. 

“It’s alright.” 

Ever the critic. Even when it comes to himself. 

The two of you were eating in silence, only the sounds of chewing and slurping filling the air. 

Bakugo raised his eyes from his meal when he noticed your reluctance to continue eating about halfway through the meal. 

“Why aren’ ya eatin’?” 

You could hear the disapproval in his voice. Not worry, not even concern. Just disapproval. 

“Uhm,” you started, but couldn’t finish your sentence. 

The godforsaken jeans you’d decided to wear were digging into your stomach painfully, to a point where a sharp pain was shooting up your chest. And you filling your belly more wasn’t helping it. 

“D’ya not like it?” 

“No! No, that’s not it.” You moved a piece of the omelette with your chopsticks around on the plate. “It really is delicious.” 

Hmph. 

You chewed on your lower lip. Bakugo was obviously unhappy with your answer. He was still staring you down. 

“I’m wearing my standing jeans.” You admitted after a few seconds. 

“Standin’ jeans.” He repeated, obviously not understanding the term. 

“Yeah. Standing jeans. Jeans that look great when you stand up, but you can't really sit down in them because they’re too tight.” 

Your laughable reason was met with silence, he was obviously letting you stew in the ridiculousness of it all. 

“They’re too tight when I sit down, they dig into my stomach.” 

Bakugo blinked at you once before he rolled his eyes and without a word got up and left the kitchen, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom. 

You heard some sounds coming from the other side of the flat before he reappeared with grey sweatpants in his hand, handing them to you. 

“Change.” 

“I’m not going to change into your sweatpants.” You protested, looking at the fabric in his extended hand. “I didn’t even want to stay here. Nor eat your food. Can we just get this over with?” 

You were this close to begging him. This close. Begging him to say the final words, those ones you had no guts to really say. Even though they were long overdue. 

“Ya look like shit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ya heard me. Ya look like a’mess. Change'nto those damn sweatpants and finish your food.” 

You looked from his face to the sweatpants he was still holding out for you. Reluctantly, you took them and stood up, immediately feeling the relief in your midsection. You walked back into the hallway where you came from and disappeared in the door on the left – Bakugo’s bathroom. 

You peeked a look at yourself in the mirror immediately after closing the door behind you. He was right. You looked like shit. The concealer was cakey under your eyes; the foundation was sitting on your skin almost unnaturally, making you look like you were wearing some sort of a mask. The mascara formed spider legs on your lower lash line – where some stray tears had gathered. The Visine you had used obviously wasn’t working.

You could just leave the apartment. Just leave and not look back. Obviously, he would get the hint, right? 

Leave and not say a word. Save yourself from the uncomfortable conversation, the uncomfortable feelings that would inevitably bubble up your chest and settle in your throat. 

You sighed and put some liquid hand soap in your palm, turning on the water with your other hand. Smearing the soap across your face, you rubbed hard enough to get the mask off your face, so you could feel the inevitable tears on your skin without any barrier between the two. The soap was slightly stinging as it got into your eyes, but it didn’t stop you from rubbing your face with your nails until your skin was all red and the makeup was now underneath your fingernails. 

It didn’t matter if you wore your mask or not. Not anymore. He had seen right through it. Might as well bare yourself to him. 

Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you saw the black streaks of mascara all over your face, which made you dunk your face into the watery, soapy concoction for longer, until it was running down your forearms and to your elbows, dripping down onto the grey rug on the floor. It didn’t bother you at this point. 

You only opened your eyes again when you ran out of breath, now looking at beet-red skin with two bloodshot eyes that were staring back at you in the mirror. 

That would do for now. 

Opening the drawer underneath the bathroom sink, you knew exactly where to look to find the hair accessories Bakugo kept for all his hookups. Grabbing the ones you needed, you pinned your slightly damp hair out of your face. Stripping off your standing jeans, you folded them neatly into a nice square before you put on the grey sweatpants that were ill-fitting on you. 

It didn’t matter now. 

Didn’t matter what you looked like. 

You sniffled a little and opened the door, emerging into the hallway and letting only the slight taps of your feet announce your entry to the kitchen. 

Bakugo looked up from his meal, unphased, and nodded his head to himself. 

“Thanks for the sweats.” You put your jeans on the counter to your right, where there was empty space. 

“No problem.” 

That was actually kind of nice of him. 

Your brain whined in your head. 

He wasn’t supposed to be nice to you. Not now. Not when you needed a final push to end this. Like a coward. 

“Is al’this just ‘cause of me, or did somethin’ else happen?” 

You stayed silent for a while, instead putting in your mouth a spoonful of miso soup with a piece of tofu. 

Should you be honest with him, or lie? 

…It didn’t matter anymore, did it? 

“I got fired.” 

You stuffed your face with the fried egg. 

It was really nice to eat a warm meal after some time. Only now that you were wearing his sweatpants and your entire stomach wasn’t hurting from those damn jeans did you realise how much you actually relished the feeling of warmth filling you up. 

“Sorry t’hear that.” 

All you replied was a low hum from the back of your throat, continuing to fill the dark, empty space inside of you with the home-cooked meal. 

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” He asked after a minute. 

You could see in your peripheral that he was looking at you now, pausing his eating. 

“Not really.” 

After that, the two of you finished eating in silence. Once you accepted that Bakugo knew you weren’t alright, the silence actually turned comfortable. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking things over while the two of you were eating. Was this really the last time you’d ever see him? He deserved to get dumped for how badly he had treated you, right? 

Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe something in his life happened the same way you got fired just recently? 

You shook your head from side to side discreetly as you swallowed down another mouthful. It was too late. You came here for a reason, and that reason was exactly what you were mulling over now. 

Don’t be a fucking coward. 

It was the right thing to do. 

Bakugo treated you as disposable. If that was what you were to him, there was no reason for you to stay. 

Were you ready to prove to yourself that you truly were disposable to him, though? 

You realised you had been staring at now empty plates and bowls in front of you only when Bakugo’s hand appeared in the picture to collect the dishes. 

“Thank you for the food, it was really nice.” 

“Hm.” 

You stayed seated at the kitchen island as you watched him neatly put the bowls and plates into the dishwasher. It was obvious that he followed a certain system. You didn’t even consider getting up and offering any help. You knew him well enough to know that he would scold you and tell you to sit down again. 

Your eyes drifted over his body while he was bending down to put the porcelain away. The way his back muscles moved underneath the fabric, the way the dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck brushed against the skin. 

You could almost feel it. Feel his muscles move under your fingers, taste his skin on the tip of your tongue. 

Your eyes followed his movement as he finally turned around once he was done, resting his backside against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes met and your look didn’t falter. It didn’t. 

“So ya wanna break up?” 

You let him win and looked down at your lap. All you saw was the grey fabric that belonged to him. 

“Is it really a break-up if we haven’t even properly dated?” You dared to raise your eyes again. 

“Fair enough.” 

It was him now that looked down. You won this round. 

You were sitting on the bar stool in silence while he was just standing there, in the kitchen, the kitchen island creating sort of a safe barrier between you two. Your fingers were fidgeting in your lap, trying to make your mind focus on anything else than what was really going on in your head. 

Don’t say it. 

Don’t. 

“What happened?” 

You winced. You said it. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

This was a mistake. 

You abruptly got up and grabbed your jeans from the countertop. You were leaving in his sweatpants. You’ll send them back to him sometime later. 

“Wait.” 

You could hear his hurried footsteps following you to the living room area where you collected your purse from the couch. 

“Wait, god dammit,” he grabbed your arm and spun you around so you could face him. “What didya mean by that?” 

You were staring at the neckline of his hoodie, tears smudging your vision. There was not enough of them to roll over the notional barrier, but enough of them for you to fear that they would. 

“What didya mean by that?” He repeated the question. Now that he was so close to you, his voice got much softer. Much quieter. 

That along with the smell of his cologne and deodorant made you realise just how much you’d missed him. The emotion filled your body with a strange feeling of sorrow and grief. 

His hand left your arm and you craved for his touch to return. 

“What happened?” Your voice sounded broken. It felt like it was another person talking rather than you, you couldn’t recognise it. “It was so nice at the start.” 

You dared to look up at him, which turned out to be a mistake. The movement sent the drops of salty water over the edge of your waterline. You felt them rolling down your cheeks to your chin where they connected into one and dripped down. 

Bakugo’s vermillion eyes followed the movement of the liquid on your face. He almost looked guilty. 

“I don’ know whaddya want me t’say.” 

“The truth.” 

He looked away from you for a few seconds while he put his hands in his pockets. It was clear he was debating it. Whether or not he should really be honest with you. 

“You owe me that much.” You encouraged him to talk even though you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to be anywhere else with anybody else than in his apartment with him. Maybe you were a masochist. 

“I used ya.” 

Fresh tears started streaming down your face as soon as his words registered in your brain. His saying it out loud made it all too real. If he hadn’t admitted it, you could still pretend it was something else. You could pretend and make yourself feel better about it. When he admitted it you lost the possibility and comfort of gaslighting yourself into thinking he had a good reason. 

He had enough sense to look at the floor almost shamefully when he carried on. 

“I had a lottov things goin’ on ada time. Ya distracted me from it.” 

You blinked harshly to force the water from your eyes out. The gentle gasp for air left your lips even though you tried to fight it, to conceal it from him. 

“’M sorry. I thought I could give ya more, ‘cause you’re really nice.” 

“Yeah, well… really nice doesn’t seem to cut it, does it?”  

You both stood there in silence for a few more beats before you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb smearing the tear away from underneath your eye. 

“Don’t.” 

It was a quiet plea, a quiet plea that sounded too much like a whimper, leaving your lips parted after rolling off them. 

“I meant what I said.” He pulled his hand away from your cheek, moving it to the other and wiping your tears there as well with the upper side of his index finger. “Ya are nice.” 

“Whatever.” You removed your face from his touch, eyes glued to the floor. 

“Spend the night.” 

Was it an order, or a request? You didn’t know, but the sentence froze your feet to the floor before you could turn and make your exit. 

“What?” 

“Listen, listen. No funny business. Just, spend the night. Ya can sleep inda guest room.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought. 

Your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes that were moving from right to left, going from one red eye to the other, trying to gauge the sincerity of his statement. 

“Spend the night.” He repeated once more, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

Your mind was screaming at you to get the hell out of that apartment, but you felt yourself nod. 

A masochist. 

“Yeah?” He was making sure. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, not even looking him in the eye. The lump in your throat was making you feel like you could choke on it and you already felt bad for betraying yourself like this and agreeing to his outrageous request. You couldn’t bear the way he was definitely looking at you on top of all of that. 

Bakugo gently put his hand on your shoulder and guided you back into the heart of his apartment. 

“D’ya wanna watch some movie?” He led you to the couch so you sat down on it without any protest. 

“Sure.” 

He sat down next to you, not really close, but not far away from you either, turning the TV on and switching to the streaming service on it immediately. 

You kept biting the inside of your cheek and looking everywhere else than at the TV or him. Hearing the opening of a movie, you raised your eyes to the big screen mounted on the wall. Your throat went dry as soon as you realised what was playing. 

“No, something else.” You demanded quickly. “I wanna watch something new.” 

Bakugo looked at you for a few seconds and then nodded his head, taking the TV remote in his hand once again and switching the movie to a different one. 

The movie that he initially pressed play on was a movie you talked about with him. You could still remember how you gushed about it, mentioning how it was your favourite movie growing up and saying the words we should watch it together sometime. Of course, that 'sometime' never really came. So, now you wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him taint your movie. This was yours. He had no right to claim this thing as well. 

You wouldn’t let him have this because that would mean that at some point he actually listened to you. It would mean that at some point he might’ve tried if he cared enough.  

The sound of a different movie playing commanded your attention then and so you tried to tune in as much as possible. Just from the music, you could tell that it was an action movie. 

“Real’ like this one.” 

You wished he didn’t say those words. 

»»————-　　————-««

You were probably in the middle of the movie and lucky for you, you were already able to say that you hated it. Loud explosions, ridiculous situations, plot with holes. Surprisingly, Bakugo liked a Hollywood action movie with too big of a budget. 

Your eyes drifted from the TV screen to the window. Living this high up definitely had its perks. The view being one of the main ones. You remembered how naïve you had been when this situationship started. How you had thought maybe if this goes well, I’ll be looking at the same view every morning. 

“Ya don’t like it?” 

Ever the observant. 

You turned your head to the other side, looking at Bakugo who was looking right back at you. You bit your lip and shrugged your shoulders. 

“It’s fine.” 

You didn’t want to be mean but you also didn’t want to lie about liking it. 

“Fine?” 

Wrong answer, apparently. 

“I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for an action movie.” You tried to calm him down a little. Lying it was then. 

“Shoulda told me that hour and a'half ago. Dammit.” 

You watched him as he grabbed the remote and exited the movie. 

“What are ya inda mood for, then?” 

You watched his profile illuminated by the light from the TV screen for a few seconds. He was so beautiful it almost pained you. The constantly furrowed brows you almost couldn’t see because of his hair covering his entire forehead, his perfect nose, the shape of his lips. His skin without blemishes, apart from a few small scars, even though he didn’t really have a skincare routine. 

You remembered how you imagined what your possible babies would look like. They’d be perfect. 

“So?” He asked impatiently when you hadn’t answered immediately. 

His eyes met yours when you decided what to do. 

Moving closer to him, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Just as you remembered. He still tasted the same. It was Bakugo who leaned back, looking at you. Making sure you knew what you were doing. You leaned in more, kissing him again. Gently, almost tenderly. What if this was the last time you ever got to taste him? You relished the feeling, trying to commit to your memory as much as you could. His taste, his smell, the way his lips felt against you. The kiss got interrupted when he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Are ya sure ya can handle it?”

You knew what he meant. Are you sure you can handle that, emotionally? Are you sure it won’t ruin you even more?  You couldn't help yourself. Bakugo was like a scab you couldn't stop picking at. An open wound that just wouldn't heal. He was your weak spot.

“No.” You said with your voice all breathy, kissing him once again, this time more passionately. Bakugo reciprocated without missing a beat, one of his hands grabbing the side of your face and the other one going straight to your waist. Not even a few seconds in, you swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss. 

You were eager. 

And Bakugo was just as eager as you. 

Part of your brain hated this. Hated how good his touch felt, hated how familiar all of this was. How safe you felt right in that moment and just how vulnerable and exposed it was all at the same time. You felt weak. 

Bakugo’s hand that was on your waist moved to your hip and gripped it tightly, pushing you back and forth, guiding your movements so you would grind against him. There was impatience in the movements from both of you. You knew where it was coming from on your end but the implications of it coming from him made your heart drop in your chest. 

“Need you.” You half whined against his lips before you quickly stood up and took off the sweatpants he had lent you. Bakugo followed suit – he took off his trousers hastily and welcomed you back in his lap with open arms, immediately grabbing at your flesh and squeezing what he could. 

“Couldn’t leave ‘thout one last fuck, could ya?” He growled against your skin when he moved his lips to your neck and started kissing and nibbling it. 

You let out a quiet moan and grabbed his growing bulge through his boxers, the thin fabric the only thing separating you from him. He was almost fully hard already, huffing against your neck as you stroked him. 

“Fuck, okay, lemme go grab a condom.” The hero parted from your neck momentarily and was about to get you off of him and get up when you stopped him. 

“No!” 

You surprised yourself with how quickly you objected to that. Bakugo stopped himself and gave you a look. 

“No,” you said calmer this time. “I wanna feel you.” 

You deserved it. You deserved this. You deserved at least one good thing in your life. And he would be the one to give it to you. You didn't need his love or affection. All you needed was a piece of him.

You pushed his underwear down just enough so his balls and dick, now fully hard, were free and stroked it, eliciting an almost painfully sounding groan from the man. 

“I wanna feel you tonight.” You repeated, pushing your own panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance. 

You definitely needed more prep than this, you knew that it would be an uncomfortable stretch and that you weren’t wet nearly enough to help with it, but you couldn’t wait any longer. 

You groaned from the slight sting, it was a bit worse than you expected it to be. 

“Shit, easy.” Bakugo put his hand on your hip to slow you down a bit. “No need’da hurry. We got all night, princess.” 

»»————-　　————-«« 

You sat on the bathroom floor in your mother’s flat, having to temporarily move in with her due to your unemployment. The phone you kept pressed against your ear kept ringing and ringing. To be honest, you were expecting it to go straight to a voicemail right away. 

“Yeah?” He picked it up probably at the last possible ring. 

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Listen, could we talk?” You bit your lip as you looked at the positive pregnancy test in your hand. 

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #bakugo katsuki angst #tw: baby trapping #ves writes

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Chapter 105.5 Thoughts: Control, Manipulation and Partnership

Or, how Chuuya is actually the most qualified character to land a victory over Dostoevsky.

I just want to preface this with: I think Chuuya has woken from the brainwashing. We can't see his eyes, he's holding his hat again, and look at the progression of his face and expression from the last few chapters with him (these are in order btw from left to right).

I'm not completely sure how he did this, but I chalk a lot of it up to sheer stubborn determination on Chuuya's part, mostly because it's funny and he was clearly fighting back before Dazai's speech. However, I find it likely the speech did contain some kind of code - others have pointed out how "Goodbye!" might be a reference to the original author's last unfinished book and we know skk's codenames for things generally are based off their real counterparts' works so, maybe he'd already broken out of it, maybe there was something in there that gave him the final push - who knows at this point honestly? Either way, it means Chuuya had the capacity to break out of the vampire curse on his own and that's incredibly funny to me for many reasons but mostly:

Fyodor: "Bold of you to assume Chuuya's ability can't overcome flooding."

Dazai: "Bold of you to assume Chuuya's personality can't overcome brainwashing."

But really, this highlights something interesting here, both in what Chuuya's role is ultimately intended to be in this arc, and in the way Fyodor and Dazai manipulate and value others in very different ways.

I've said it before but it bears repeating: we already know that Fyodor is an excellent long-term planner, while Dazai is effectively able to counter him because Dazai shifts into thinking like his opponent. They're foil characters for a reason; they're both highly intelligent, manipulative, and willing to play the long game for the sake of winning against their opponent.

Thing is, I also stand by the idea that personality-wise, they're not similar at all - and that has serious implications for the people they are connected with. The build-up to the prison escape arc really highlights this. Some examples:

Chapter 46: Fyodor believes that all people are sinful and foolish and that his goal is to remove sin. Dazai believes that all people are sinful and foolish but asks what's so wrong with that.

Chapter 64: They decide to have a "super-happy chit-chat" about their problems. Dazai's solution to Fyodor's issue with his lazy subordinates is to get them to think lazing around is a bad thing so they will put in effort of their own. Fyodor's solution to Dazai being unable to woo the waitress is to isolate her from her job, house and family so that she can only rely on Dazai.

Chapter 77: Fyodor believes god is perfection and harmony, and thus that the people capable of change are the superior ones with most control. Dazai believes god is the accidental and illogical and believes it is the ordinary people who fight and live in that uncertainty who create the greatest change.

So, what's happening here? Fyodor's manipulation is shown to be very exacting and direct. He leaves no room for error and regards people on a hierarchy - God above all, himself as a servant of God's will, and the sinful and foolish humans he has little regard for. Dazai's manipulation involves manipulation of the situation, and is often indirect. It involves people coming to the conclusion he intends for them to on their own. And from his later dialogue with Sigma, we see he doesn't regard the world in that same kind of hierarchy.

Now, look at the way Fyodor picks an item and Dazai picks a person when starting the game. Look at the way Fyodor refers to Chuuya respectfully but brainwashes him entirely and mocks Dazai for not being worthy of "using" his ability. Look at the way Dazai is a complete ass to Chuuya but ultimately lets him make his own choices (begging people to take note of that moment in Stormbringer where Dazai cuts himself off to correct his referring to Corruption as Arahabaki's true power to Chuuya's true power).

So, the actual strength Dazai has over Dostoevsky then, is not really his strength at all, it's the strength of others and their choice and willpower to act in the way they believe is best. It's the only means of getting a leg up on Dostoevsky, otherwise they will continue to go around and around in circles forever.

And Chuuya is the best candidate for finally throwing Fyodor off his game.

Firstly, let's just establish something: no matter how mad he is at Dazai, he's not going to side with Fyodor, not willingly. Fyodor threatened the Mafia in the Cannibalism arc by attacking Mori, first of all. I doubt he's forgiven him for that. Secondly, Fyodor embodies everything Chuuya can't stand about Dazai, at the very least, younger Dazai - the manipulation, the lack of consideration and connection with others, the callousness and lack of regard for life.

Well, perhaps he's not quite as irritating. +1 point for Dostoevsky I guess?

But lastly, it is more advantageous for Chuuya at this point to help fight against Fyodor, especially since most of the Mafia has been vampirized by his organization. Helping the Agency stop the terrorist plot will help the Mafia by extension by undoing that. And we know from Stormbringer that no matter how much Chuuya is personally hurt, he considers taking out the threat to his people a higher priority. Always.

(You could make the argument that he was told whatever Teruko told Atsushi and decided to join, but not only do I find this wildly out of character, but if that was the case then there would've been no reason to brainwash him.)

That said, I don't think this was preemptive "Dazai's master plan #3057", and in fact, I stand by the idea that Dazai had no idea Chuuya was going to be in the prison. It is very, very important to me that for the rest of this arc, no matter what Chuuya does, that his actions are his own. Not Fyodor's, not Dazai's, but his. And not just because I hate that he's being controlled right now and that freedom of choice has always been important for Chuuya.

But because it makes narrative sense.

The vampires are a bit silly, yes, but they represent the way Fyodor and Fukuchi think - humanity will commit atrocities. They cannot be trusted to make their own decisions. They want to make a world that is free by... mind-controlling people so their plans work without a hitch. In short, they choose, on behalf of others, to sacrifice human autonomy for peace. So, if we are going to turn this arc around, we need to have characters breaking out of that control and thinking for themselves, in spite of the uncertainty of the outcome.

We already see this with Atsushi in the last chapter! He finally takes initiative and makes that choice to leave the room when he doesn't exactly know what the right thing to do is. And this is also why I don't think Teruko is wholly convinced by the DoA either - she lets him go. She gives him the freedom to choose what he does with that information.

Another one of the focus characters here is Sigma. Sigma is a guy who has no past, whose humanity is questioned, who keeps being used by organizations for his valuable ability, who has no home but desperately wants one... oh wait. Remind you of anyone's younger self? This could go one of two ways: Chuuya fails to assert his autonomy, leaving Sigma to learn from that failure, or, Chuuya succeeds in asserting his autonomy, leaving Sigma to learn from his success.

I think it, by necessity, has to be the latter. Sigma's at a tipping point right now, and I think seeing someone try to assert their freedom only to fail would damage him greatly. And I think it's a waste of Chuuya's character honestly.

Chuuya needs to assert his autonomy in this arc. Not just for thematic reasons but because I can think of no one else who can effectively break the "super-genius stalemate".

I keep hearing "Dazai knows Chuuya" in response to Fyodor calling their bond shallow, and that is absolutely true! But Chuuya also knows Dazai. Incredibly well. Odasaku knew Dazai's soul, but Chuuya knows Dazai's mind, knows his strategies and ways of thinking without even needing words. What's more, Chuuya has thrown off Dazai before and done what he didn't expect him to.

Which is nifty, because Dazai and Fyodor think a lot alike. Chuuya is in a unique position to thwart Dostoevsky because he may actually be able to predict him to a degree. Chuuya can absolutely land a victory against him, and it's excellent because it would be completely unexpected to Fyodor, who apparently thinks Chuuya's strength lies only in what his ability has to offer and not much else.

But listen. This also can't be skk's plan. I need Chuuya to sideline both of them. Both for the sweet, sweet catharsis of putting those two idiot geniuses in their places and also because I need Dazai to have screwed up. He wasn't wrong about people making their own choices in uncertainty. People need to assert their autonomy to create change. Dazai can't be wrong in this regard.

But with going ahead with the trap to drown Fyodor despite also having to drown Chuuya when he promised not to let him get killed... this needs to have been a mistake, otherwise the value of Dazai's emotional speech to him is diminished.

I want Dazai to try to laugh it off. I want him to say he always knew Chuuya would escape and then for Chuuya to deck him because "no, the fuck you didn't".

I really think Dazai hoped Chuuya would make it. Do remember that Chuuya was one of the first reasons young Dazai decided to try giving life a chance. The fact that he flashbacked to all his key memories with Chuuya says a lot. But his survival was no guarantee and it seemed very unlikely.

So, Chuuya is faced with the fact that Dazai nearly sacrificed him to kill Dostoevsky and save his new Agency friends.

And I hope he finally gets mad. I hope he finally expresses hurt on his own behalf for once. I hope they are forced to break their status quo that they have carefully maintained by not talking about anything ever. I hope they are pushed to uncomfortable places and that it is Chuuya who finally spurs this development.

Let Chuuya break the stalemate between Dazai and Dostoevsky. Let him shatter the status quo that him and Dazai have kept going for year after year.

Autonomous action in the face of uncertainty is necessary for change.

#am i assigning too much narrative importance in the main manga to chuuya? perhaps #will i stop? no #unfortunately this meta doesn't include gogol which is an oversight because he absolutely has to play a role as well #i'm just not quite sure what yet. same as chuuya i suppose #either gogol asserts his autonomy or he... fails. yeah. either he gets dostoevsky killed or... he fails. #i just don't know where he fits in with everyone else is the thing #listen though. it is significant that gogol decided not to play his dying role in the doa's plan though. #gogol is the free spirit of the doa and yet he's closer to sigma and bram in terms of how he is more controlled than controller #anyways sorry this is so long. just my two cents on the matter #bsd #bsd spoilers #bsd chapter 105.5 #bsd chuuya #bsd fyodor #bsd dazai #bsd sigma #bsd meta #i don't even know if this makes sense anymore. here. #storyrambles

[etz-ashashiyot]

You know how sometimes arguing a point is losing?

Like if you engage the argument at all you are inherently putting up for debate things that should never be up for debate and the argument itself is degrading?

You see this with interpersonal gaslighting:

A gaslighter doesn’t simply need to be right. They also need for you to believe that they are right. In stage one, you know that they’re being ridiculous, but you argue anyways. You argue for hours, without resolution. You argue over things that shouldn’t be up for debate  – your feelings, your opinions, your experience of the world. You argue because you need to be right, you need to be understood, or you need to get their approval. In stage one, you still believe yourself, but you also unwittingly put that belief up for debate. In stage two, you consider your gaslighter’s point of view first and try desperately to get them to see your point of view as well. You continue to engage because you’re afraid of what their perspective of you says about you. Winning the argument now has one objective :  proving that you’re still good, kind, and worthwhile. In stage three, when you’re hurt, you first ask, “What’s wrong with me?” You consider their point of view as normal. You start to lose your ability to make your own judgements. You become consumed with understanding them and seeing their perspective. You live with and obsess over every criticism, trying to solve it.

[Source]

But you also see this on a broader societal level, with people asking unfathomably awful questions about minority groups, such as:

[Source]

It should go without saying, but no group of people should be forced to explain that yes, they really are real people, dickheads. The question doesn't deserve an answer; it deserves at best a disgusted eyeroll + "Are you a Nazi?" and at worst a punch to the face.

There is also the related phenomenon of the "when did you stop beating your wife?" type questions. The question is framed as a yes or no question, but the real answer for the innocent is: "I've never beaten my wife and never would." But even that answer still dignifies the question with a real response and puts the idea in the mind of the listener that hey maybe that's a real possibility and this guy is lying because of course he wouldn't just admit that. Now I don't know what to believe, but I'm skeptical.

Even if he answers, doubt has been cast on his character and many people (maybe even most people) neither have the attention span to listen to his full counter argument and supporting evidence nor are invested enough in strangers' lives to take the time to dig for facts on their own. Critically, it comes from a good impulse that shouldn't be repressed or taken too far in the opposite direction; namely, that we want to believe survivors and make it socially acceptable to speak out about abuse.

This leaves us with the uncomfortable reality that balancing believing survivors and whistle-blowers against not automatically believing allegations that very well may be false and/or in bad faith is a very tricky balancing act indeed. Because of this, people tend to struggle with taking survivors seriously and with presuming innocence until guilt has actually been proven, both. And as for the latter, this is at least partially due to the same psychological factors underlying the Don't Think of an Elephant problem.

Why am I discussing this?

See the thing is that these types of discourse have all been used, heavily, against the Jewish community, especially since Oct 7th, but really going back hundreds of years.

If you want to be our ally, you need to be on guard for how people use this rhetoric to accuse Jews of absolutely batshit cookoo bananas allegations (like being lizard people or having horns, or secretly running the world, or killing Christian babies to use their blood in our matzah, etc. etc.) and get away with it. Now obviously if so many people weren't already racist towards Jews as a people and had a vested interest in maintaining their supercessionist cultural worldview from Christianity and Islam, it would be a lot harder for this to work. Alas, the past 2000 years has created a bit of a snowballing effect.

This culminates in the effect described so well by Sartre:

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

Right now, Jews are facing extreme levels of these types of rhetorical abuse, and are receiving very little help in the way of pushback.

We have to stop trying to explain ourselves and start just naming these tactics instead.

#antisemitism #המצב™️ #jumblr #how to argue

[sxcret-garden]

Yeosang ღ Longing [M]

ღ Ateez Yeosang x fem-bodied!reader ღ feat.: Yunho, Wooyoung ღ words: ~2.8k ღ genre: fluff, soft smut (fingering, unprotected sex), mutual pining, friends to lovers, college AU ღ warnings: (mentions of him picking up reader) ღ prompts: “I want to look at your face.” + “Say that you want me.”

Desc.: You and your friend Yeosang have been secretly in love with each other for months, and somehow you never found a chance to talk about it. Eventually he came to the conclusion that you must be in love with another one of your friends, and so the jealousy threatens to consume him every time you’re together.

“Hey, give that back!” you yell, reaching out for the pen Wooyoung just took from you. It’s a pretty color of blue and with a fluffy pom pom on its end - your favourite pen, and apparently he likes it too. It’s not like you never noticed the envious looks he always gives you when you’re using it, but you wouldn’t have thought he’d be so bold as to steal it from you one day.

“Make me!” he shouts back, a broad grin on his face. You glare at him and stretch your arm out further, but it’s futile. You can’t reach the pen he’s holding away from you as far as possible, no matter what. The two guys sitting opposite you have been just watching across the table at the study café you often come to up until now, however, suddenly Yunho reaches out and snatches the pen away from your friend, holding it out to you.

“Quit making such a ruckus, guys,” he scolds you, speaking in a warm tone. “People are gonna look at us and start wondering what kind of kindergarten we’re from…”

“We’re college students!” Wooyoung complains loudly.

“Then act like it.” Yeosang’s sharp words cut him off. You don’t miss the cold gaze he shoots the noisy guy next to you, before turning back to his own notes, trying to study. Awkwardness makes the air around the four of you feel heavy, and you know you’re the only one who could cheer him up in this situation.

“Yeosang,” you call out to him, and you see his facade waver for a moment. “We were just fooling around. Sorry for being so loud… we should all try to study now.” You give him a sincere look and wait for him to return it. Finally, he looks at you, unsure what to do now. You don’t miss the slight blush covering the tips of his ears as your eyes meet, and he eventually nods.

“I shouldn’t be so irritated… what’s wrong with me?” He bumps the palm of his hand against his temple, faking a smile in hopes of making the tension around you disappear.

“I’m sorry too,” Wooyoung chimes in and then faces you. “I’ll leave you alone… for today!” He gives you a childish grin and you can’t help but chuckle at him, feeling Yeosang’s piercing glare going right past you, as if he wanted to chase Wooyoung away with it. As soon as the latter notices the hostile gaze, Yeosang turns back to his book and clears his throat.

“So, problem number 4? Did anybody understand this?” he asks as if nothing had happened.

“An older friend explained this to me,” Yunho starts talking and leans over to the smaller guy, circling something in his book using a pencil. “You have to start using this formula here…” While the two are busy, soon sunken into thought, you and Wooyoung exchange a worried look. You know what he’s trying to tell you with his apologetic shrug, and you try to convey to him that it’ll be alright.

You know Yeosang has been in love with you for who knows how long now. He’s usually fine seeing you around other guys, but somehow whenever Wooyoung is there, jealousy takes the better of him. Maybe it’s because you get along so well, or because he would like to fool around with you like Wooyoung does. Either way, deep inside you know there’s no need for him to feel like this. After all you too have feelings for the guy - you just don’t know how to tell him yet.

Evening comes round eventually, and after grabbing a bite to eat at the café, you part ways. First Wooyoung says goodnight, turning towards the direction of his own home nearby, while the other three of you approach the train station across the street. Yunho walks in the middle, yet the air around you has turned awkward again. Apparently Yeosang doesn’t want to make it worse, so he just stays silent, and the taller guy doesn’t really know what to say anymore either, after a failed attempt to create a conversation. You get the feeling it’s all on you now.

“So… tomorrow same time as always?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Sounds good,” Yunho agrees and you glance over at a still sulking Yeosang, who tries to hide his feelings as soon as he realizes you’re looking at him.

“Yeah, same time as always.” He gives you a nod and a tired smile. You hate seeing him like this, knowing you could ease his mind with just three simple words. Should I just tell him…? you ponder. Should I confess and that’s it?

You board the train and eventually you all get off at your station. You part ways with Yunho, so now it’s just the two of you walking in the dark of the night side by side. Not talking much for a few minutes, you come to a halt at the crossroads where you usually say your goodbyes, except today you feel like you can’t leave Yeosang just yet.

“Can I… come with you?” you gather your courage and ask. Surprise is written all over your friend’s face now, and it takes him a few seconds to process the question.

“Yes. Sure,” he agrees. You see a smile forming on his lips. It’s the first time today that you see him smile honestly. Walking side by side, you follow him to his humble flat on the fourth floor of a huge building. You’ve been here before. It’s a small apartment, but it has enough space for a busy student - there’s a tiny kitchen island next to a small table, it has a decent bathroom and a comfortable bedroom. 

“Do you want to eat something? Drink something?” Yeosang asks as soon as you have both slipped out of your shoes and put your bags aside.

“Just tea?”

“Sure. What kind do you want? I have green tea, herbal tea…” he introduces a whole collection of assorted teas to you, overwhelming you a bit with information, so in the end you just stick to regular green tea. You sit at the table as you watch him boil water for two big cups, preparing the beverage for the both of you. He puts it on the table and sits down opposite you. For a while you just sit there in awkward silence, both sipping your tea and looking around the room, as if searching for something, when really the only thing you’re looking for is a sign to start talking. That sign never comes though, instead Yeosang clears his throat.

“I’m… sorry, Y/N,” he says hesitantly, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Why…?”

“Because I keep acting like a child.” He looks down now, his eyes finding his hands that are placed in front of him on the table. You find the birthmark next to his eye, one of the many little things you keep falling in love with about him. As if gaining courage from the sight, you reach out to cover his hands with yours.

“Yeosang, I need to tell you something,” you blurt out without thinking, and your heart starts beating faster as you make eye contact. As if he thought he could tell what you’re about to say, he shakes his head and gets up, withdrawing his hands from your hold.

“Don’t,” he answers, keeping his voice low. “You don’t have to say it.”

“What…?” You slowly rise up from your seat as well, now sensing the sadness hiding behind his stance very clearly. “You have the wrong idea!” you protest, but he doesn’t listen.

“I know you like Wooyoung,” Yeosang utters. “It’s okay. I got it. I’ll stop.” You stare at him for a few seconds as his own gaze is fixated on the corner of the room. A lot of things you would’ve liked to say to him cross your mind in that moment, but you know that none of them would have enough of an impact on him. You know that none of them would make him listen. So instead you approach him with secure steps, you reach out and grab him by the collar, and then you pull him towards you, smashing your lips together. You remain like this, kissing, trying to convey to him all the feelings that you haven’t had the courage to say out loud up until now. You wonder why suddenly you feel like you can say them, but instead of getting caught up in your thoughts, you keep moving your lips against his. Eventually you part, and still out of breath, you speak very quietly.

“Say that you want me. Say it and I’ll be yours.” He looks at you with big eyes and slightly parted lips, speechless for a while.

“But-,” he stutters in an attempt to put the turmoil of feelings in his chest into words, “but I thought-. What about Wooyoung?” 

“He’s a friend, Yeosang,” you state calmly, with a warm smile on your lips. “Always has been and always will be.”

“Then… you… like me too?” His voice turns into but a whisper, and you press another kiss onto his lips.

“What do you think?” you respond with a question, your breaths mixing as you pull back for a bit. Yeosang doesn’t answer, instead he leans in to continue kissing you, while he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. You too throw your arms around him, holding onto his shoulders tightly, and as if that was his cue, his hands travel to behind your thighs, picking you up. Feeling secure in his hold, your lips part and you make eye contact with him.

“Wanna take this… somewhere more comfortable then?” he asks and you find all the suppressed emotions and his longing for you surfacing in his dark pupils. You nod. You wonder for a moment if you’re going too fast - but then again, shouldn’t it be fine to run into this blindly, led by nothing but your feelings for each other that stayed hidden for so long? After all you two have been waiting for a moment like this for what feels like an eternity now.

You let him carry you to his bedroom, where he carefully sets you down at the edge of his bed, before supporting himself with his arms to your sides, and you pull him in for another long kiss, deepening it as if it was the last time you could connect your lips with his, that seemed to fit together so perfectly. You let your body fall backwards onto the soft blanket, Yeosang crawling on top of you in the dark room, illuminated only by the faint light of a street lamp outside his window. His lips eventually leave yours, traveling down your jaw and your neck, as if he wanted to worship every single part of you. He pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it aside, continuing his ministrations traveling further south, leaving soft kisses all over your collarbones and chest. Sighs escape your mouth as you feel yourself relax under his touch. 

“I’ve been waiting for this so long…” you whisper into the darkness, combing your fingers through his hair. You let out a small whimper when you feel his teeth grazing your skin right below your chest. He crawls back up to place another kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I thought this day would never come,” he admits and you smile at him, unable to make out his facial expressions clearly due to the darkness.

“Let’s turn on the light,” you suggest, running your fingers through his hair once more. “I want to look at your face.”

“Oh… sure,” Yeosang suddenly hesitates and you can’t but chuckle at his reaction.

“What? Are you getting shy now?” you ask, watching him sit up and turning on the light beside his bed. You place your hands just above his waistband, slipping them under his shirt and letting them travel up his abdomen, feeling his muscles tense up under your small touches. Yeosang leans down to give you a proper kiss, and once you part you slip his shirt off his body, exposing his toned shape. Seemingly having forgotten all about his momentary embarrassment, he buries his face in your neck to place little kisses there, nibbling on your skin in between. You wrap your arms around him, placing your hands on his shoulders to keep him from slipping away from you again. Taking in the faint smell of his cologne that’s still sticking to him even after such a long day, you close your eyes, about to get lost in the moment. You wonder for a short while if this was the right moment to confess, to tell him that you love him, but that thought too gets lost once you feel him reconnect your lips in a soft but passionate kiss. You place one of your hands on his chest, letting it travel down his torso slowly, before it reaches the waistband of his pants. Tugging at it, you lead him to break the kiss and instead make eye contact with you. He shoots you a questioning gaze, as if attempting to ask if you really want this, and you give him one short but convincing nod. He slips out of his jeans, and so do you, and eventually both your underwear comes off too in between sloppy, needy kisses and fingertips tracing the other’s bodylines. Still hovering over you, his hand finds your core, and the pleasure that shoots into every cell of your body like electric waves once he comes in contact with where you want him most makes you moan underneath him. Your hands search for something to hold onto as he keeps going, pushing a finger inside you, and you eventually grab his bedsheets, clasping them in your fists. You find his hungry eyes watching every single one of your reactions to his touches, like how you turn your head away and close your eyes when he slips inside another finger, or how you moan his name when his lips come in contact with your skin again, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach. And then eventually you both hit the limits of your patience, and you give him a pleading look.

“Yeosang… please. I need you…” you beg, and as if that flipped a switch inside of him he leans in for another longing kiss while he removes his hand from your core, only for him to push inside you as soon as your lips part, now rolling his hips against yours. The feeling of him filling you up makes you suck in a breath, and your chest rises up. You let go of his bedsheets and instead find his muscular shoulders to hold onto. You throw your head back at his next thrust, and he reconnects his lips to your neck. Hearing his breathing growing heavier in between kisses, the waves of pleasure keep adding up, as if wanting to overwhelm you.

“Y/N, I love you,” you hear him mutter into your ear, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You want to say it back, but you’re rendered unable to speak as he picks up on speed, finally finding that sweet spot deep inside you. In between moans and whimpers you see your high approaching, and with a moan of his name it crashes down on you, making you cum around him while clinging onto his shoulders. He lets you come down from your high, and it takes him but a few more thrusts to come undone on top of you as well. 

He rolls onto his back, putting his arms around you to allow you to put your head on his chest, snuggling up to him closely. You say nothing for a while, just listening to the sounds of your breathing filling up the room and each other’s heartbeat in your ears. Then you eventually lift your head to look up at his face, finding that he’s already been watching you while holding you close to him. You lean down to kiss him softly and slowly, lips merging together perfectly.

“I wanted to tell you something as well,” you remind him. “Are you gonna let me talk now?” He nods, never taking his eyes off your mouth as you speak. “I love you too,” you confess with a smile. Yeosang brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, before placing his hand at the back of your neck and pulling you towards him for another kiss.

“Wanna stay with me tonight?” he whispers close to your face, so you can feel his warm breath on your cheeks. You nod. With a chuckle, you answer,

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#ateez smut #ateez drabbles #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #yeosang x reader #yeosang smut #yeosang drabbles #smut #kpop smut

[qqueenofhades]

Do you think part of what makes people feel like voting isn’t worth it because things don’t get better under democrats is because we can’t see what would have happened? Like I see a lot of people saying “well biden hasn’t made america much better so there’s no point” but it’s like they don’t understand that under a republican they would actively do everything they could to cause more harm. It’s like they don’t understand that 1. The president can’t do much, and 2. IT WOULD BE WORSE. like they don’t understand the possibilities. Idk people just frustrate me

I'm sorry, as I know you're just relaying what these people think and not claiming so yourself, but the whole "things don't get better under Biden/Democrats" line to which we are subjected so very, miserably often is a lie!!! It is demonstrably a lie! It is peddled by people who deliberately live in their echo-chamber leftist misinformation bubbles and either don't read the news, don't accept anything less than the Magical Socialist Revolution Now, and don't think partial or incremental progress (aka the only kind of progress that exists) is valid. "Biden hasn't single-handedly fixed everything wrong with America and the world after the most damaging presidency ever to exist and 250+ years of flaws, while other countries actually are their own actors with agency making complex choices, so we shouldn't vote for him" is a bullshit lie and I'm tired of it!!!

(Again. Sorry. This is not directed at you. This is just my frustration with this entire ridiculous situation speaking.)

We have had multiple elections now where people voted for Democrats, which resulted in abortion protections, protections for LGBTQ people, the biggest climate legislation ever to pass Congress/be signed into law (the Inflation Reduction Act), vast improvements in the job market, executive actions both large and small, improvements in labor and the economy, a general democratic system, a defense of the rule of law, a warning against fascism, and everything else that Trump trampled on in 4 years and will finish the job of doing if this godforsaken country is either right-wing-zealot or left-wing-zealot enough to put him back into office. (Like, people. Google is free. You're welcome to look up the improvements Biden has actually made, but that would harm your Narrative.) So much of this misinformation is also peddled by people who are proud that they don't have a clue how the American government works and/or deliberately lie about it: see all the claims that it was Biden's fault for not magically stopping a Trump-stacked SCOTUS, selected for the express purpose of overturning Roe, from overturning Roe. Because the president could just unilaterally overturn the Supreme Court with no problems at all if He Really Wanted To, I guess. Even if that is literally not the way it has ever functioned in history.

All the noxious Republicans in state legislatures passing anti-trans/anti-abortion/anti-voting laws ARE NOT SOMETHING BIDEN CAN STOP. If you're going to criticize him for not doing something, for God's sake at least make it for something he can do (like not calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, though I would argue he's already taking a more nuanced approach than the entirety of the American establishment during the War on Terror). And then vote for him when/if he follows it up, not just throw your hands in the air and scream about how you Can't Possibly Sully Yourself (especially when there is some very selective support going on here and a deliberate white-washing of how many orders of magnitude worse absolutely everything else in America and the world would be under Trump. So.)

I'm tired of it. I'm really, really tired of it. I've been trying to cut back on my politics posting because my mental health is bad right now and I often feel like a broken record screaming into the void. But. Yeah. Anyway. Whoof.

#plantsandothers #ask #politics for ts

[satoru-is-the-way]

SPOILERS FOR AVATAR 2!!

Avatar! Rick Quaritch x Na'vi Reader 

"Given Enough "

Series Master list

Tag list: @anyzandy   @kneelingforvillains @dioriez @mylovelyreblogs @dinobae-replyacc @the-wanderer-2022 @zootsutra @voodoogoul

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list.

Chapter 1 - The Invader

Colonel Rick Quaritch shamefully tucked his tail and flew off. His mission to kill Jake Sully failed drastically. Now it's just him flying out into the wilderness of Pandora. His body is weak and needs to rest. Rick landed on a nearby plot of floating land,' Ayram alusìng' as Na'vi called them. However, this was not the Hallelujah Mountains. Quaritch had no clue where exactly he was. He grunts, removing his Queue from the Ikran. He slides off the mountain banshee’s back boots landing on the ground beneath him. The Colonel glanced around for any natives lurking in the trees or behind the bushes around him. The cost seemed clear enough to let his guard down. Little did he know a female Na'vi had been monitoring him long before he entered her tribe's domain. 

(Y/n) (L/n), the clan leader's firstborn. Her people were known as the Kamimaljuyú. The air tribe. They lived in the Ayram alsuìng and built their home there. Humans learned very little about their kind. Due to the terrain, it served as a natural shield against the sky people. Their technology did not last beyond a few miles before rendering them completely useless. The Kamimaljuyú made minimal contact with Sky people and preferred to keep it as such.

(E/c) orbs gradually examined the Avatar before her. She caught subtle differences between her people and the lab-grown organism. Their Avatar features included:  eyebrows, a pronounced nose, a stout physique, one extra finger, and a toe. Their entire race intrigued (Y/n). How did it make sense to leave their dying world only to bring their problems here? Humans would not change their way of life. Not even to save their race. They rather force their ways on others while avoiding the real problem. She could not allow him to stay here much longer. (Y/n) feared Quaritch might bring others. The Kamimaljuyú knew about the sky people’s return but had no involvement in such a meaningless slaughter. They were after the mighty Jake Sully, not her people.

Her chest rose and fell, soaking in the air around her. With a graceful hand, she retrieved an arrow from her quiver. (Y/n) placed the string between the nock before pulling back. Her accuracy could rival any hunter in their village because she never missed. Everything around her accounted for; the distance, position, and wind speed. She let go firing her poisoned lace weapon. Suddenly a gust of wind hit the trajectory changed. Her eyes widen as the arrow lands right at the Colonel’s boots. She then felt a strong presence, Eywa. Maybe the path for this Avatar is not death. The great mother is never wrong. 

Quaritch leaped up glancing in the direction the arrow came from. “Come on out. I might go easy on you.” He growled despite not being in the physical condition to fight. (Y/n) rolled her eyes before slowly emerging from the nearby bush. Her arrow is out as a precaution. 

“You look ready to collapse at any moment now, demon.” Her ears go back hissing as a warning. “I take it you couldn't handle the Na'vi as you thought? You may have an Avatar body but your skills and technology are no match for our spirit." 

Quaritch looked over the native female. He could not deny she was beautiful. The Colonel normally had no attraction to women of their race but. Her eyes, face, lips, and hair all came together perfectly. "You-you." He stutters before collapsing. The last thing he saw is (Y/n) rushing over to his body before everything went black. 

---

Quaritch had no idea how long he was out. He woke up surrounded by thousands of Navi. He hissed looking frantically for a way you. However, he is bound and helpless. What choice did he have? Why did she not kill him? What did they want? He instantly could tell the leaders apart from the other Navi. ‘Oh, shit’ He thought realizing the pretty native woman is not just anyone. It was their daughter. How lucky could he get? It brought flashbacks of Jake Sully meeting Neytiri. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. If Jake became one of them perhaps he could? Seduce the princess into falling in love. Oldest trick in the book. A mission he would be willing to extend if that meant killing the whole Sully family while Jake watched.

“Why have you come back to Pandora after Toruk Makto sent you flying back?”

“We come back in peace. Not all of us agree with what happened to the people all those years ago. Earth wants to make admins.” He looked down with sorrow as the lies spilled off his tongue. “I had gotten caught in a nasty fight with the water tribe. I tried to explain but they did not want to listen.” Quaritch looked up directly into (Y/n)’s eyes. 

“How can I trust the sky people? The last time ended in bloodshed for both sides.”

“I will do anything.” 

“Father…” He glanced at his daughter. Originally Cualli held great anger when (Y/n) returned from her hunt with this demon tied to her Ikran. That anger changed as (Y/n) told him Eywa gave her a sign not to kill the Avatar. “Yuum, leti' impidió ti' le flecha perforara u puksi'ik'al. In wojel ba'ax Eywa Ma'atech u equivoca.Yaan jump'éel plan ti'. In wojel jach jaaj.” (Father, she stopped the arrow from piercing his heart. I know Eywa is never wrong. She has a plan for him. I know it to be true). Quaritch listens closely not understanding this language. He knew about the Kamimaljuyú. They were one of the largest tribes on Pandora and preferred to stay isolated from the other Navi. It was mentioned in books their numbers are greater than the stars in the sky.

The people chatted amongst themselves. They had a right to be scared for the sky people. Other clans had not been so lucky with the alien invaders. Eywa had blessed them all this time. Now his daughter has brought the invader right into their home. His wife, Inez, placed a hand on the wounded Avatar's chest closing her eyes. The Navi went silent waiting for her judgment. “We have avoided war for over 30 years. We kept the sky people at a distance. Eywa has blessed us with protection. Now the great mother has given my daughter a sign. This Avatar has great spirits around him. Evil and good alike battling over his heart. Eywa now brings him here for reasons we do not know. In time she will guide us to find his path, his destiny.” Her voice traveled loud and certain of her communication with Eywa. (Y/n) sighed in relief he would not be harmed as of now. Cualli stepped up raising his staff. The crowd bowed down waiting for his final verdict. With a gesture (Y/n) walked to her father kneeling down.

“My daughter has been spoken to by Eywa. Told to spare his life for now. As we wait for his purpose my daughter will take on the responsibility of tending to his invader. He could be a threat or an ally. We have yet to learn his heart. Eywa sets everyone on two paths. It is his choice of which path to take. Rise, my daughter.” He spoke. (Y/n) rose to her feet ears back. She is left in charge of this man? “You are going to show him our ways. Teach him right and wrong. Then I will pass judgment on him. If he passes the test he will be welcomed as one of us. If not you will kill him yourself. Do you both accept?” 

Quaritch held back his smirk,” I accept.”

(Y/n) sighed deeply,”Je'el in wóotik” (I accept.)

“Then go your time starts now,” Cualli announced

“ Ma' in falles waal.” (Do not fail me, daughter.) Inez whispered already knowing this will not work and (Y/n) will once more disgrace their family. (Y/n) nods looking at Quaritch.

“Follow me.” She instructed as the villagers went back to their daily tasks. She huffed once arriving at the edge of their first village. “You will have to wear our clothes, eat our food, and learn our language.” (Y/n) growled.

“I am not going to run around in one of those thongs or whatever you call them” He adds. Without warning (Y/n) pulls her knife out cutting his shirt. “You will change for this role. You will have to make accommodations or else my father will kill you.” She looked over him. “No boots, no guns, no shirt, but your pants can be cut short enough to still allow for mobility. We are air people there is still forest on our land. So we know how to climb the trees, and swing on the vines, and you will also need to learn our language.” 

Quaritch sighed taking his cut shirt off. He kicked his muddy boots off and growled cutting his pants mid-thigh length. He did not like this one bit.  “Is that better for you Princess?”

“Don’t call me that!” She hissed tail slapping him. “You are going to fail…Eywa sees something in you and I do not know why. It’s getting late supper will be soon then I will show you where you will rest.”

“With you, I hope.” He smirks moving closer to (Y/n). She growled and turned away with a sway in her walk. The Colonel knew this is going to be fun. 

Chapter 2

#Spotify #avatar x reader #na'vi avatar #avatarmovie #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar x you #Avatar x navi #colonel quaritch x reader #colonel quaritch #Rick quaritch #jake sully #sully family

[aurumacadicus]

1+14; angsty stuckony? 😩🫣

Hopefully this is angsty enough lol. For background purposes, Steve is a swan, Bucky is a magpie, and Tony is a hummingbird.

--

Steve had always been attracted to blues. And he probably shouldn’t have found it embarrassing, except of all the people who had showed interest in him, Peggy and Bucky had been the only two who hadn’t been upset when they noticed his eyes wandering over other people’s feathers when they were out and about. Peggy had politely but sternly told him that she was choosing to believe it was because he saw the artistic nature of them, and he’d agreed, because his eyes might have drawn toward blue feathers, but he was a monogamous bird.

Bucky teased him, though. It was always good-natured, but Steve couldn’t tell how sincere Bucky was when he noticed Steve’s eyes being drawn away and he grinned like a lecher and asked, ‘are they pretty?’ So he chose to ignore it like he had with Peggy. He had eyes. They caught blue and were drawn to it. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t like to share, anyway.

“Steve,” Bucky said one night, when they were all battle-sore and retired to their own rooms to decompress. They were chowing through their third pizza before they went to pass out in bed. “Have you noticed Tony’s wings?”

“Buck,” Steve sighed, and the pulsing headache he’d been trying to beat to bed caught up to him. He wiped his hand on a napkin and then lifted it to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right now?”

“They’re blue,” Bucky continued blithely, munching on a garlic knot. “Shiny.”

“He’s hummingbird on his ma’s side,” Steve said tiredly, repeating what Tony had told him when he’d noticed Steve’s… looking. He’d assumed Steve was comparing them to Howard’s instead of ogling.

Steve hadn’t corrected him, too scared of the reaction he might get when the team learned about his attraction to blue feathers. Sure, it would probably be good-natured teasing, but he’d been looked at as odd back in the forties, a swan not sticking to his own kind like they were known for. He didn't want to test that theory.

“I think we should court him,” Bucky continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Seeing his blues against your whites would be sexy as hell.”

“Buck,” Steve tried again, even though he couldn’t tell if he was angry or shocked. He also couldn’t help but imagine it, Tony’s iridescent feathers quivering against his white ones. It was a pretty picture in his head.

Bucky slanted him a sharp look, quelling whatever he was about to sputter. “Don’t fucking play stupid, Steve. Your eyes are already saying yes. Have been since the first time you looked at him, probably. Now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”

Steve felt himself flushing, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Despite that, he could feel his wings raising, feathers beginning to spread in invitation. “I just don’t want Tony to…” he began, helpless.

At that, Bucky’s stern gaze faded. “Tony isn’t going to think less of you, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said quickly, because he did. He did know that. Tony was one of the most accepting people he’d ever met. Too accepting perhaps, in some ways, but it wasn’t his business to say so.

But the few times he’d worked himself up to go after blue-feathered dames, before Peggy, they’d looked at him like he was… wrong. Like he was treating them as objects to covet. And while he’d come far enough to realize some birds were so chased after that they were wary of any potential mate that came their way, he still remembered the shame he’d felt as he wondered if they were right.

“Of course, there’s also the problem the opposite direction, where he thinks we’re joking or making fun of him,” Bucky muttered, apparently taking him at his word. He rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully as he picked through and discarded ideas. Steve waited patiently, because his tried-and-true flirtation technique was ‘god I hope they notice me first.’ Finally, he smacked his fist into his open palm. “I’ve got it. He seems to really like watching us spar.” He looked back up at Steve. “We need to manufacture a way to get him on the mat with us.”

“I’ll kill him,” Steve said simply. He was a swan. Tony was a hummingbird. Tony was only a few inches shorter than him, but his bones weren’t as solid. Delicate, Steve had called him once, and Tony had been torn between preening proudly and punching him in the face for patronizing him. Still. Steve had a hundred pounds on him of pure muscle with wings to match. Even if Tony wasn’t aware of their physical differences, he’d never allow Tony to goad him into a fight.

Bucky considered this, then leaned on the table with a sigh. “Oh boy. Well,” he groused, leaning his cheek on his fist irritably. “I suppose we can always ask Natasha to help us manufacture another ‘is that a threat or a promise’ situations with him.”

Steve remembered the situation where Tony had slanted a sly, smug look at them after mentioning him being sore for days. He remembered the lascivious tilt to his smile as his eyes flicked up and down Steve’s body before flitting to Bucky’s. He remembered the iridescent ripple of blues and greens along Tony’s wings as they fluttered becomingly behind him. He remembered the slow, syrupy drawled, 'is that a threat? or a promise,' a tease and an invitation all at once that he’d been too embarrassed to chase.

“She’ll be so insufferable about this,” Steve finally sighed, because he knew they’d be asking her.

Bucky huffed, shaking his head fondly. “Well, she usually is.”

#aurumacadicus writes #soliloquent-stark #stuckony #featheruary

[fitsofdespair]

i have hesitated to say anything before now. in part because i removed myself from fandom discourse and really from actively discussing iwtv a year ago. i consider it all a lose-lose situation.

but also because i’m generally of the opinion that black fans don’t need people to be their white saviors, least of all me. black people have never been saved by white people. they were never just given anything when it comes to strides in equality, they fought for it and still fight for it, against constant violent pushback every step of the way. only instead of the good ole’ days when racists just called those fighting for equality uppity, they’re now “bullies” for daring to call you out on your shit after the repeated condescension and the resulting harassment you’ve exhibited towards them.

in this day and age the word bully has zero meaning anymore. i mean come on, melania trump calls people mean about her husband bullies. elon musk thinks he’s being bullied by twitter users, though he clearly holds all the power and is absolutely the problem. its become a meaningless word that goliaths use to call davids because they won’t use the real word they actually want to say. some of these popular blogs are not being bullied, they’re being held accountable for their own actions.

it’s pretty disgusting the number of you who decided to identify strongly with these users that not only fail to question their own racial biases but have gone so far as to suggest black people don’t face racism anymore. this is so fucked. tbh it can be argued in many ways white people, especially in the deep south where i’m from, are inherently raised steeped in racism, even if its not direct. just because your family aren’t ostensibly racist doesn’t mean they didn’t bake their own little prejudices into your upbringing and being raised in your environment didn’t encourage them. even if you don’t see yourself as racist, you have to unlearn all this shit, even if it never once occurred to you that you are part of it. just cause you believe in equality and don’t hate people for their color or cultural background does not make you free of perpetuating microaggressions against them. this applies to fans across the world of course. (like for you white euro iwtv fans, you may say you have no problem with black people but i’ve heard some wild things some of yall have to say about the turks.)

i understand that probably half or more of you are not usamericans. but no matter what environment you live in, no matter where you were raised, there is no excuse for your behavior. just because YOU don’t see racism in your day to day life or are in the more likely situation, too blindly comfortable in your place in society to notice it right in front of your face, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist as a constant presence in other parts of the world or isn’t deeply ensconced in online rhetoric.

so for you white iwtv fans who can’t be fucked to mention let alone defend people you, in many cases once called friend, against the absolute horseshit your current comrades are spewing wrapped up in their nice safe cocoons of victimhood, i hope you do some serious soul searching to figure out if this is who you are, a person too cowardly to call out a friend because it might cost you their friendship. a person quick to condemn others on hearsay because you couldn’t be fucked to wonder am i on the right side of this? and if you do manage to get wise and change your mind, remember its not unforgivable to say, you know what? i was wrong. i wrote in an old post that the hallmark of being a functional adult is changing your views accordingly when you learn new information or even just ruminate on what you know (i myself was a little bitch about ep 5 when it first dropped until i had to sit down and ask myself why i was actually feeling some kind of way about it). dying on a hill is not all its cracked up to be. being told you’re wrong is not always a personal attack and its often an opportunity for improvement if you can be bothered to genuinely hear other people out. an alarming number from all walks of life never figure that out. for my part, i am still learning and hope i never stop learning.

while that sentiments all nice and gooey (i mean them, but i understand its still sacharine to put out there), i am still guilty for not having directly written anything about this until now. and thats on me and i earned any flack i get for that. again, i am more of the mindset that black people don’t need white spokespeople, but that doesn’t mean they'll mind allies. and as a sidebar, going out of your way to say you are rising “above the noise” or “ignoring the drama” is absolutely your right, but it does not make you superior. it just makes you complacent with the status quo. i mean as long as you get to squee!! about anything and everything who cares about other people, right?

#and to be clear since i think some people may be a bit confused: i’m admonishing user nalyra-dreaming and their followers #some people who reblogged seem to not understand that #iwtv #interview with the vampire #alex.txt

[corazondebeskar-reads]

better run

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 19 - "please don't" | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 521

summary: You should have never tried to run from Joel.

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, non-con, captivity, hunter/prey, open ending (if u see me come back to this one later, no, you didn't. I have a problem.), one (1) kick, face slapping, hurt/no comfort

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please don’t,” he mocks. “You shouldn’t have run. Fucking cunt.” His boot connects with the aforementioned area, still tender from the previous day. 

He rests it there, in some sick display of conquest, and the terror grows impossibly as a sharp smile spreads. 

“You know what, baby? You want it so bad? I’ll let you try.”

You don’t dare speak but nothing, nothing about this rings with any hope. 

“Oh, now you don’t want to beg me anymore? You want a chance to get out of here or not?”

There’s no right answer. His smile grows, pleased as you face the trap he’s laid. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He removes his boot from between your legs and reaches a hand down to help you up. 

You take it and try to pull away as soon as you’re standing, but he just smiles and smiles. You don’t struggle, giving in easily to his grip. 

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he says, and your heart beats so fast it hurts, “and as a reminder of my kindness, I’ll give you a ten-minute head start, even. If you get away? I won’t come after ya unless you make trouble for me.”

You don’t believe it, but you can’t resist the tiny hope. Fragmented and dangerous as it is, you cut yourself open on its edges. 

“If I catch ya? Well, you better hope I don’t. And after that, I expect you to be on your best fuckin’ behavior. Understood?”

You nod, but he tightens his grip on your wrist.

“Say it.”

“Understood.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than his hand connects with your cheek. “Is that how you fuckin’ talk to me?” 

“Understood, Sir.” 

“That’s more like it. Alright, stupid girl, go on. Time’s a wastin’.” 

The ten-minute lead had to be over; you’re sure of it. Which means any moment, he’ll find you. The dense woods surrounding the property are dark even in the afternoon sun, and you’re not doing well.

The days you’ve spent chained in his closet have not been kind in many ways. You’re exhausted, starving, and in pain. It’s all the worse now for the way the forest floor has torn up your feet, not to mention your knees and palms from when you fell. 

The adrenaline keeps the pain mostly at bay, but there’s enough for you to suspect you twisted your ankle. Autumn is settling in, and the breeze that winds through the trees makes you shiver, with only Joel’s shirt between you. 

You stop for a moment, knowing it hemmorages time, but desperate to look around. There’s nothing but trees, but certainly, if you keep going, there will be a road or people, right? 

Right?

Wrong, Joel thinks, watching you through binoculars. He’s lounging, back against a tree, not far from you. Letting you panic. He knows what you’re thinking from the way you turn on the spot, eyes darting in every crevice and gap for a clue. 

There ain’t a thing for fifty miles in every direction. This is his fuckin’ land. There’s nowhere for you to run where he can’t find you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #dark!joel #dark!joel miller #dead dove fic #the last of us fic #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday19

[dotthings]

Thinking about Misha's comments at Purcon about Destiel and fandom and taboo.

A few things that still need to be said (from a fandom old): 1. antis are a big factor in turning Destiel into a controversy over the years, and are greatly responsible for the "taboo" of it, not solely, since there's a lot of complex factors in play. I don't aim to over simplify this. Predominantly the unreasonable hatred and pearl clutching and attitudes and "backlash" and "this will RUIN the show eek" "it RUINS the fandom" "gtfo shippers" and othering of a queer ship, in the environment that spn and spn fandom was back when, that style of gatekeeping and hatred, contributed greatly to that environment. And why Destiel kept being the thing that dare not speaketh its name, even in fandom spaces like cons or in merch. For example a few years back anti-destiels threw hissy fits of rage on twitter attacking Hot Topic just for having a t-shirt that had "destiel" label on it is a typical example. The othering and hate and stigmatizing of Destiel is very much part of the history of this ship, and I'm glad things improved. I know some people are still disappointed it's not more, or better, and that's valid, but also valid is to appreciate that it's way better than it used to be. Shippers who saw this all unfold in realtime may feel differently on this than people coming in new. I think people have a right to be glad things got better and feel gratitude for the increasingly welcoming environment. Because it was...pretty bad, years back. I could see things warming, opening up, and changing in a good direction. The anti-destiel contingent has less power now, they are still a hissing, buzzing, angry, chronic annoyance who can't seem to move on, and are to this day crying victim and trying to blame everyone else while they seem to feel entitled to have everything bow to this hatred of theirs, to this needless hate fixation they have against a queer ship. (People can dislike it or not ship it all they want, that has nothing to do with what I'm talking about).

The upside is, things did get better (which just makes antis angrier).

2. Misha has every right to discuss this ship and give his opinions and takes on fandom, production, the story, what he experienced with the othering and silencing himself, and what he observed of it, and he has every right to support Destiel, and he has every right to his view of Cas. Anyone who hates on him for it is out of line and is a continuation of that whole systemic historic problem. I'm not going to go look at the hate. I'm saying after experiencing and seeing that kind of needless hateful backlash aimed at Misha about 56362 times I can imagine how Misha will get hated on for his Purcon comments. He has every right and anti-destiels are in the wrong.

#Destiel #misha collins

[funky-little-archivist]

Okay besties listen to me right now. Here’s how steddyhands can still win (real and true)

Stede and Ed clearly love each other very much, but they just can’t seem to stop fighting. They can’t seem to get on quite the same page, and this is a problem they’ve had from the start. They both want different things at the end of the day, and they just haven’t been able to reconcile that issue. Ed wants to explore non pirate life, which he’s never really had a chance to do, while Stede wants to explore pirate life for the exact same reason. I can’t really point at either of them and say that either of these things are wrong or they’re being intentionally malicious with each other. I also can’t point at the writers and complain about them stringing us along when all we want is for gentlebeard to be happy because this feels like very natural progression for both of them. As I said, they’ve been heading in this direction from the very start of the show.

So you know what I think they need? A stabilizing force. An anchor. A mediator. These are two whim-proned people who need someone to keep them grounded. And who’s sitting right there waiting for the chance to do exactly that? Izzy.

All season, apart from the parts where he was mourning blackbeard and the loss of his leg, izzy has been doing pretty much exactly that for both of them. Yes last season izzy was pretty much nothing but toxic for Ed, encouraging the worst parts of him. But he’s since come to regret that and was actively the one that stopped his downwards spiral. And he’s been coaching Stede, getting to know him better and teaching him how to pirate properly. This season izzy has really been encouraging both of them towards the goals they had at the start of season 1, in a way, making them the versions of themselves they want to be. But it does seem like he doesn’t intend for Stede to go off the deep end like Ed did either, as izzy discouraged him getting into the bar fight and kept trying to make him back down. I don’t think season 1 izzy would have ever done that for Ed. He’d have wanted blackbeard to defend his reputation. I think izzy wants them to be better, and as he said he actively approves of and encourages Stede and Ed’s relationship. He knows that they’re good for each other, and he doesn’t necessarily want to see them break up. But he also wants them to be the best versions of themselves.

And I’m honestly starting to think that’s what they need. As I said, they need a calming force, because both of them are very active passionate energies in their own way. But here’s the thing, I could be crazy but I’m actually starting to suspect maybe there’s a chance the show is going in this direction as well? I mean I could be reading too much into it, and listen I’ll be the last to put faith into this kind of theorizing again. But listen

How could it possibly not have been intentional to have izzy serenade Ed and stede’s first time together? It could have been literally anyone. It could have been frenchie, we’ve seen him sing before. But no, it was izzy, he got glammed up, showing his immense emotional growth and maturity compared to the first season, and had him practically sing his blessings for their relationship. And yes, maybe that’s all it was meant to symbolize, that izzy approves now and has moved on. Except he so clearly hasn’t moved on (we all saw that heart eyes stare he gave Ed in man on fire) and for me it’s the fact that he actually played an active part in their scene together, at least for the audience. He set the mood guys. In a sort of metatextual way, izzy was part of Ed and stede’s love scene.

And then there’s the fact that the show has been exploring non traditional non monogamist relationships for the entire season. I mean, already in season 1 we had Lucius telling izzy that they don’t get jealous when izzy tried to use that against him, but now we have olu and Jim actively celebrating each other’s relationships with other people despite still sort of being in some kind on non platonic relationship (shown by olu calling Jim babe during the safe space stand still scene). Olu, Jim and Archie sort of formed a straight up throuple? And then olu and zheng almost invited Jim and Archie to? Share a room with them?? Maybe? Whatever the case, it’s all fluid. And that’s okay! This type of relationship fluidity has been so normalized on the show, I don’t really see a reason for them to get precious about Stede and Ed being the only exclusive couple. At it makes sense, sexual fluidity has always been an integral part of the queer community and it’s so refreshing to see it represented here realistically. (Not to say that monogamy isn’t also accepted and valid in queer spaces but many shows have and will continue to represent that. It’s nice to see a representation of the less traditional, less “sanitized” side of queerness.) (edit: AND LET’S NOT FORGET SPANISH JACKIE! hell she was doing it before anyone else)

And hey as a bisexual myself I understand not everyone will like this allusion but I did see someone say that izzy is quite literally Ed and stede’s unicorn lmao. So. there’s that.

And not that this would be a perfect solution to all their problems either. I don’t want izzy to just continue to play custodian to Ed’s problems and add stede’s to that as well, not to mention that izzy and Ed have SO much work to do to fix their mess of a relationship. But I just think maybe all three of them can help balance each other out, mediate each side of the triangle. The dynamic would just be so satisfyingly perfect, and hey, a stool can’t hold up anything with just two legs, but with three it is stable.

Anyway, basically I’m starting to see it guys and maybe I’m crazy but maybe there’s actually a chance here. Again, I’m by no means saying this is 100% going to happen, and most likely I’m seeing things they didn’t intend. But from interviews from David jenkins and the cast, to subtext in the show, I think maybe there’s a non zero chance. Either way, I cannot wait to see what this show has in store for us in the last three episodes.

#ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #steddyhands #Stede bonnet #Edward teach #izzy hands #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #stizzy #blackhands #ofmd meta

[waechan]

love is patient, love is kind.

pairing: mark lee x reader (jisung plays a rly small role)

genre: angst, sorry guys lol

wc: 704

notes: i've been going through a lot of relationship/crush problems so i just wanted to vent through my writing and share what i'm going through with u guys somehow! the guy i like is very mark coded so that's where were going with this one- thanks for listening and supporting me:)

ღ

mark came out of nowhere. i met him through jisung, and we went to go hangout at an outdoor mall that day. i remember everything.

he was funny, sarcastic, super cute, and if i'm not wrong, flirted with me the entire day. his lingering touches, his hand on my back when he walked by me, the smiles he gave me when he thought i wasn't looking.

we hungout almost every day with the rest of the group for a while, but then the we started to communicate and call on the phone separately, just the two of us.

calls switched to facetimes, facetimes changed to hanging out in person, and whenever we did hangout i felt the rest of my world melt away.

he showed me what others couldn't. he showed me bliss, ignorance (in the greatest way possible), fun, pure joy, and comfort.

we were in the back of my car one day, eating food that the two of us had picked up, and we were out watching the stars. it was sprinkling, but we were protected by the open trunk. we shared a blanket, and we were both just staring, in silence. comfortable silence.

i looked at him and he looked at me, and he tilted his head.

"what?"

"nothing." i whisper as i look away, feeling my heart race.

"you okay?"

i nod.

"yeah, i'm good."

"you want a hug?"

i freeze, and before i know it i'm declining. god, i was so nervous.

"no, it's fine. i'm okay."

"alright then." he says as he shrugs.

i should've said yes.

ღ

we drove home afterwards, and it was late, almost midnight. i drop him off at his house and i'm about to leave, but he comes running outside with his dog.

"it's not my dog, it's chenles but i'm taking care of her for him."

my eyes widen in happiness as i hold her in my arms, and i hold her close. she was nestled comfortably against me, and i cuddled up to her.

i could feel his stare on me, and he took a picture. i saw him in my peripheral, and he was smiling. he laughs.

"you look funny."

i went home, and he sent the picture to me later that night. i smiled when i saw it.

i looked beautiful. i looked truly happy.

i really hope that's how he saw me.

beautiful.

ღ

now, i stare at him across the gym.

he wasn't looking at me, and i knew he was avoiding my gaze on purpose.

my heart still beat for him, my cheeks still got red when i saw him. i knew i wasn't over him, but how would i ever be? i never got the closure.

i feel a tap on my shoulder and i'm snapped back into reality as i force a smile towards whoever had touched me.

i'm met with jisung standing right next to me, tilting his head as he smiles right back, completely oblivious. "you okay?" he asks softly as he looks at me, looks at me like i'm the only girl in the world, the only girl who mattered. my heart clenches...

but not in the good way.

me being the people pleaser i am, i nod and i smile. i lean closer to him, pretending to be okay, and i look him dead in the eyes to once again pretend.

"great.

i'm great."

well i wasn't. i missed him, and i still wondered if he missed me. he had to, the way he looked at me, the way he treated me, the time he spent with me.

i feel someone's gaze on me as i turn instantly to look.

he's staring at me.

mark, he's looking right at me.

our eyes lock, my heart skips a beat.

oh how i wanted to go over and hug him, to cry, to smile, to do anything. to be with him again like i had been before.

i take a step in his direction.

he turns away and walks right out of the room.

love is patient, love is kind. love is dangerous.

i loved him. how was i ever going to move on?

remember this;

love is patient.

and it takes its time.

ღ

lol so yeah thats my love life rn, im in love with this guy but his friend and i had a talking stage recently but i realized that he was just a distraction and i feel horrible

i really hope you feel the emotion and care that i have for this guy in this story, i just wanted a place to rant and just relieve myself from all these feelings i have

ty for being a group of people i feel safe with<3

#nct dream #nct dream x reader #kpop #nct dream imagines #nct dream angst #nct #mark lee #park jisung #mark x reader #jisung x reader

[ellmeria]

Hello! My name has changed to Embarrassed now. 😅😂 I wanted to ask about someone who'd have queen like qualities, like empathy but also resilience. Someone who's soft yet strong. And also i love your answer to the previous question i asked. ❤️ And also thank you so much 🥺✨

Hello! Thank you so much for asking! You are not embarrassing at all. Don't worry. Let's head into the question! 🤍

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 “𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞” 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

Disclaimer: I believe every placement has the potential to be a queen of their own. The following information is just placements in the natal chart that exude this energy particularly. Also, I am not a professional Astrologer, so take it with a grain of salt.

What is considered prominent in the natal chart? ⋆

A sign/asteroid is considered prominent in a natal chart when it is on the angular houses (1st, 4th, 7th, or 10th) or in personal planets (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars).

The following information is based on my personal opinion on the matter. It is written in no particular order.

♕ Prominent Leo Placements

These people naturally exude the aura of someone who belongs to royalty. They are proud, born leaders. And they present themselves as such. They have the mentality of a lion/lioness who directs a pride and takes control of a territory. Such people are so generous, and they hold their heads high. They are ruled by the Sun. That said, they shine brightly because of their confident yet warm personality.

♕ Prominent Taurus and Libra Placements

These people are ruled by Venus. They know how to carry and present themselves. People are often hypnotized by how graceful and mesmerizing they move. They are tactful and diplomatic, especially when dealing with other people. In conflicts, they often take the role of a mediator. Their charisma also comes in handy in negotiations. They know how to maintain healthy interpersonal relationships with various people, and they embody fairness in all aspects of life.

♕ Prominent Pisces Placements

Such individuals are thoughtful, empathetic and will constantly look out for others. They are emotionally intelligent. They are tender yet tough in fighting their own battles. I noticed that these signs, when developed, know how to stand up for themselves and others. Some people often equate kindness with weakness. But I think being kind, no matter how cruel the world is to you, is such a true power move, honestly.

♕ Prominent Virgo Placements

These people are calm, cool, and collected. They know how to communicate effectively and with clarity, making people drawn to them. Their wise nature allows them to make sensible decisions that would drastically impact their lives. Aside from that, they make great planners. They are seen as someone reliable who offers rational pieces of advice to those who need it. It is in their nature to provide help in any way they can.

♕ Prominent Aquarius Placements

Such individuals are trendsetters. They are someone who explores a new path and introduces it to the masses. Many people look up to them because they are not afraid to go against the norms. Most have the urge to champion human rights and bring progressive changes to their community. They leave people dumbfounded because of their innovative ways of solving problems. They are extremely brilliant and creative.

♕ Cardinal Placements

(Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn) A queen is a leader. It is a no-brainer that the cardinals will make it into this list. Such people know how to take the initiative and spark a new idea. In times of conflict, they can be seen on the front line. They are strategic and keep Plans A-Z in case everything goes wrong. They always come prepared. They master the art of making people engaged in their plans. They may appear “bossy” and “domineering” at times, but that is because they only want everything to flow smoothly.

♕ Capricorn Moon/Moon-Saturn Aspects

These people often have a difficult upbringing. Growing up, they went through a lot of obstacles that made them learn life lessons earlier than most. They make disciplined and ambitious individuals who never stop until they reach success. Their wisdom comes from their firsthand raw experiences. Despite it all, they are still standing up strong and brave, ready to take on any challenges life has to offer. That alone makes them a queen.

♕ Scorpio Moon/Moon-Pluto Aspects

These people feel like they live in constant fear. They went through a lot. Because of it, they learned to be more cautious and observant to avoid unpleasant circumstances. It also indicates that some of them have a difficult time expressing what they truly feel. They take a lot to open up and trust people despite having intense emotions. Despite it all, they gather depth from their experiences, making them wise and independent.

♕ Saturn in the 1st/10th House

These people feel like they carry the world on their shoulders. They were burdened with responsibilities and obligations since they were young. At an early age, they already know the importance of taking accountability. Saturn in the 1st House natives often have difficulties accepting themselves. Whereas Saturn in the 10th House experiences delays in career and ambitions. These make them more hardworking and determined. They remain brave and resilient, making them a queen.

♕ Scorpio/Pluto in the 1st/10th House

These people are the personification of power and influence. Their presence is deeply felt once they walk into a room. They make for individuals who are extremely passionate about the pursuit of their goals. Behind it all lies a person who underwent painful experiences in the past. They desire power to avoid being taken advantage of by other people. However, once they learn to heal themselves, they can do the same for others, making them an inspiration to many.

♕ Prominent Asteroid Queen (5457)

This asteroid is responsible for your capabilities that others may deem “queen-like.” If this asteroid is prominent in your natal chart, many people may look up to you or “worship” you in one way or another.

Side note: These were all that I could think of at the moment. Feel free to add anything that I failed to include. I hope it helps. Have a pleasant day/night, Your Majesty! *bowing so deeply that I almost kissed the floor* 🤍

The photos are taken from Pinterest. Credit goes to the rightful owner/s.

Copyright © 2022 ellmeria | All rights reserved.

#🌿: ria answers #🌿: astro ria #astrology #astrology observations #astrology notes #astro observations #astro notes #astrology indicators

[faeriekit]

Quiet Respite 🕸️❤️🦇

find the whole thing on Ao3 or read the previous updates here on tumblr

A DC x MCU fic inspired by Dark Matter, Cassandra Cain meets Peter Parker in an exploratory romance slash “mystery” fic. (If you’ve read a lot of these before, you pretty much can tell what’s going on in the background.) Features: Cass’s turn as POV character, use of sign language, the flimsiest timeline you’ve ever seen, teen romance, hurt/comfort, implied homelessness, fight scenes, Cass’s teen rebellion arc, Spider-Man villain arc?? (whoopsie), and a good deal of sneaking around. Updates on tumblr before ao3.

Previous updates are listed above, so if you don’t want to start off with ch 15 below, click on those. This is just to consolidate a big post into something slightly smaller. Anyway, enjoy the continuation of Peter’s trauma-induced depression arc.

🕸🕷🕸❤

The next day is dance class.

Baby Bat’s school will be waiting for him tomorrow, which means Peter will either go, or not go.

That’s a tomorrow problem. Today, Cass has dance.

She hovers her hand over Peter’s stomach. “Can I…touch?” She uses her voice to ask.

He lets her touch. She gently prods his ribs.

“They don’t hurt anymore,” Peter whispers as he signs, exhausted, but awake. “I ate. I slept. I healed.”

He heals quickly, then. Some creatures do. Cass nods.

“Okay.” Cass can sign that one without even looking at him. She rolls off of her bed. “We are going.”

Peter frowns. He’s confused. “We…?” he starts, but his hands fall before finishes his thought. He’s too tired.

Cass hums a doing chores song that Alfred likes. “Mmhmm,” she vocalizes in her throat, more thought than sound. She reaches underneath her Peter, and he barely even flails. So gentle with her.

“Wait, where are we—?” He squawks. If he’s signing, it’s at the wrong angle for Cass to see. “What?? Cass— Wait—“

Having his bare skin against her arms is kind of nice. He’s kind of squishy. Cass is hopeful that with more food, he might be even squishier. His body is a little too cold. He needs clothing.

Cass makes it over to the door. An almost-free hand wiggles enough to get Cass’s fluffy purple robe from the hook on back of it, and positioning Peter beneath it makes it fall neatly onto his face.

Peter makes a wounded noise. But he’s not hurt. Cass whistles Alfred’s cleaning tune and opens the door with a careful stretch and her toes.

Cass pokes her head through the door.

Cass looks left. Cass looks right.

“I don’t think anyone is here,” Peter murmurs, close to her ear. He’s looking where she’s looking but— right. Peter and the spider are the same. He can hear things Cass can only feel whispers of. She nods. She carries him down to Bigger Bird’s room.

Bigger Bird’s not here, but his pants are. Cass pulls open a drawer with her toes (new skill!), sticks Peter closer, and let him choose.

…And prods him to choose, when he doesn’t.

“Are we stealing?” Peter mumbles, upset. But he picks a pair of shiny, dark blue shorts. “Because I stopped that now.”

“No. Giving back. Later.”

“Oh. Well, then.”

Baby Bat’s shirts fit better. Cass walks them across the hall to Baby Bat’s room, stepping over the clutter and noise to get to his closet.

“It is a little weird how comfortable you are with going into other people’s closets,” Peter says under an exhausted sigh. Cass understands most of the sentence: the part that says This is weird. The rest is probably about the clothing.

“One child,” she accuses of him easily. “Normal.”

Peter barely looks at the shirts. He picks one off the closet without examining it. “Only child?”

“Mmhmm.” What’s the difference?

The door cracks open. Cass knows it’s going to be Baby Bat, so she doesn’t worry. Baby Bat likes Peter. He appears in the doorway, head-speakers half on and half off, computer under his arm. “Ca— Peter?!”

Peter’s head lolls in Baby Bat’s direction. Cass shifts to accommodate him. “…Hi,” says Peter.

“You’re in my house?” Baby Bat asks, confused. His eyebrows are pushed together. He doesn’t understand why they’re in his room, or in his room, together.

“…I have been? For a few days?” Peter asks, more confused than Baby Bat is. Cass hasn’t told him they were hiding him.

(To be fair, she thought it was obvious.)

“Shirt, please,” Cass rasps, and gestures to Peter, clad in only her purple robe and with his stuck-up hair.

Thankfully, signing: “Okay??” only takes one hand and a strong expression. Cass loves Baby Bat. She might kiss his hair on the way out.  

Cass wheels them out into the hallway, almost backs into a fancy art thing on a tiny table, and ferries Peter back into her room.

His dirty clothes and his metal skin are still on her floor. They’ll have to stay there until Alfred cleans her room tomorrow and the laundry goes away.

Peter. Stands. He holds the clothes. He doesn’t change.

That’s okay. Cass takes his choices from his hands and carefully guides him through the process. Sometimes just touching the body is enough to bring someone back to it. His arms go up. The shirt goes over his head. Cass touches each foot to guide his legs into the shorts.

His body is dressed, although he is without shoes. Cass fetches skinny little socks from her drawer, because his body is always too cold to her touch and loving people means giving heat and warmth.

Hm. Maybe he should have her jacket too.

Bigger Bat is fending for himself in doing job things. Bigger Bird is doing day work in his very far, very smelly city. Baby Bat already likes lying to Bigger Bat for fun.

All Cass has to do is take Peter into the car with her.

…With Alfred.

Cass is very gentle with Peter. He’s strong and he’s healed and she doesn’t have to be gentle, but Bigger Bat is always gentle with Cass even though he doesn’t have to be too. She takes Peter’s hand to walk him downstairs for fear that he won’t come after her if she doesn’t. They slip through the long halls and heavy doors of Cass’s new nest on socked feet.

Alfred is already at the door when Cass and Peter get there. When Cass puts herself between Alfred and Peter, it’s almost unconscious.

Alfred looks up.

Alfred looks down.

He does not look…surprised.

“I had thought Cass was hiding a cat,” Alfred signs, slowly and precisely, as he always does.

“P-e-t-e-r,” Cass fingerspells instead. She tries not to look sheepish. She is doing a good thing. She doesn’t have to be shy about it.

“Indeed. To the car?” Alfred signs, and speaks, in case Peter doesn’t understand ASL.

Peter doesn’t sign back; but still, he’s pliable. Cass guides him into the car, and he buckles himself in.

They go to dance.

Peter doesn’t dance, but that’s okay; Alfred is clear with his words and tone that say Leave him alone and Be nice at the same time, and all the same ballerinas who had watched Cass be tossed with envy are careful and quiet with him.

The music plays. A dozen feet fall on the same beat, and Cass dances.

Arms. Legs. Bend. Twirl. Dip, and bend. Turn. Angle her head, just so, so that Cass can watch Peter without breaking the line of perfectly organized dancers.

Peter watches, legs crossed, knees up to his chin.

The lessons end, and the ballerinas leave— kindly waving to Cass, to Peter, with shy shoulders and soft-spoken concern. They’re nice. Cass loves dance-partners. They mean as much to her as fight-partners ever could.

The ballerinas leave. The teacher, in her black leotard and taut leggings, leaves.

Cass doesn’t leave. The floors smell like wood and wax. There’s the smell of sweat and emotion in the air. The mirror is the only cool part of the humid, sweaty room. Cass, not Batgirl and yet in a black bodysuit, sits beside Peter.

Peter says nothing.

Cass says nothing.

…Cass holds out a hand.

Peter. Looks at it. He isn’t sure he wants to take it, she can tell— knows what it’s for, but doesn’t have the energy to do anything about the gesture.

“Please,” Cass asks. Animals that do not move are doomed to die.

Her spider sees the expression on her face. His own falters because of it.

His grip is hesitant, but Cass is certain. She hauls him to his feet and puts them in pose: their fingers entwined, his palms to her, her body to his, her cheek to his collarbone.

For a moment, they just breathe, in silent embrace.

And then Cass moves, and Peter moves with her, two minds and one body.

Peter only follows old memories at first; muscle memory works to keep his body upright, to bend and to hold her, to keep Cass steady and sure.

But Cass knows what’s going to happen before it happens; her spider is a creature of movement, just like her.

Slowly, as she spins, as he follows, his eyes soften. His practiced care becomes intentional. Then it becomes artistic, and Peter joins her in the music.

The girl who wears Batgirl’s skin and a spider boy dance in an empty studio, arm in arm, dancing to music she has heard in her dreams. Their footsteps are a whisper of an echo against the plaster walls and glass mirror around them. Cass can see their reflections when she’s angled to— in the sunset angling through the windows, they are little more than the shadows they pretend to be.

She isn’t surprised when Peter lifts her— she knows he knows she likes it— but the relief that Peter feels safe enough to play a little makes her laugh. Openly. Loudly.

Peter’s eyes go wide with awe.

Cass can’t help but adore him for it.

He slowly lets her down. He doesn’t let go of her.

It’s good that he doesn’t. She wants to (and she does) angle Peter’s head down, until she can press a kiss to his curls. She pulls him in close and he comes to her.

Tears find Cass’s shirt. She welcomes them as long as Peter needs to cry them.

“T-they’re,” Peter hiccups, too close to her to sign. “They’re gone. Everyone’s gone. My aunt, my friends, my…my team, my uncle.”

Cass knew some of that. Not the details. Her arms circle around him so she can pull him tighter. “I’m here,” Cass whispers.

There’s a sob against her chest. “What do I do? Where do I go from here? Everyone’s…”

“I’m here,” Cass whispers again, because it’s the truth. “Let me…help. Brothers help. Dad helps.”

“They’re not…” Peter grips her back— careful not to crush her, not like Cass had hurt him days before. “They’re your family. Not mine.”

Cass clicks her tongue. That can easily change. Once upon a time, the Bat hadn’t been her parent either. Now she has two-and-more brothers and parent and a purple friend and an Alfred. “Can share.” And then, because she means it: “Stupid.” She bonks her head down onto his. Peter’s laugh is watery, but it’s bright.

Cass carries Peter to the car this time. He almost smiles.

(Alfred does.)

“I hope you understand that this does require you to be at dinner, young Masters,” Alfred says, signing the gist to Cass as they go. Cass catches most of it, though his white gloves make it hard to tell where Alfred’s fingers are.

Cass sticks out her tongue. Peter splutters, wide-eyed.

(They trade the sight of pink tongues all the ride home.)

(Alfred pretends not to see them, but Cass catches his smile in the mirror at odd glances.) 

#dc x marvel #quiet respite #faer fic #NO Marvel ONLY Spider-man #dcu crossover #mcu #but only mcu in the ways I personally think are cool and interesting #if they are NANOBOTS why can they not change COLOR #spider #? #spider gif #arachnophobia warning

[cthulhusstepmom]

Four Times Hootsie Ran Away to Join the Circus

There’s a certain hustle and bustle that comes with being the most important person at the Carnivalé, or so Hootsie has come to learn while observing her father. There’s always one thing or another that pops up and rears its unpleasant head. Whether it be the other people that work for him or the many beasts that he cares for. Today that was talk of an Oliphaunt, a word that made her Dad incredibly excited so it had to be a good thing. Unfortunately it seemed to be one of those good things that meant a lot of work, which translated to a lot of time spent playing with her fly-pad while her father directed the hands about. Though there seemed to be a problem with Uncle Kremy, the details of which are lost on Hootsie, but some form of one sided argument wherein her dad is too busy bouncing with excitement to listen to words like “wrong account” and “fucking sales tax Gricko”(oops a bit late on the ear muffs there). 

So at the very least it was a good day, which is never a bad thing, bad days aren’t fun; but, something Hootsie has learned in the wisdom of her(from her point of view) impressive age, is that good days can be just as un-fun as bad days if there was nothing to do. So in the spirit of making a good-but-un-fun day into a good-and-very-fun-day Hootsie took the liberty to slip under the loose flap of the beast tent and out into the grassy area where all of the horses grazed. Taking no mind of the panicked whickers and snorts of the fickle ponies, she sets her beak to the breeze and treads up the worn path out to the stand of trees currently obscuring the staff wagons from view. 

The air of the Carnivalé carries with it a bombardment of different smells. It’s always overwhelming whenever they set up at a new location, adjusting from the relatively constant scent of the carnies and the wagons, their beasts of burden and their cargo, but they’ve been here a few days and already her brain has worked to filter the new sensory input to make it more manageable; such that it’s a simple task to zero in on the deep aroma of parchment and canvas and something distinctly feline. An even simpler one to follow it. 

Uncle Frosty has shared space with her and her Dad for as long as she could remember. Whether it be tents or tavern rooms or most recently their nice wagon, where one is the other follows. They balance each other, Hootsie thinks. The stoic tiger and her effusive father, one always preventing the other from swinging too far into their respective extremes. Both kind hearted and wise beyond their years, each in his own way. Though she is just a little owlbear so really who is she to say. 

Regardless it is he who sits calmly in the center of the small space, legs crossed and eyes shut on a small mat he keeps with his many meticulously organized belongings. Hootsie tries hard not to make a sound and disrupt the serene atmosphere but she trips on a half carved block of wood and triggers a concentrated avalanche of clothes and band memorabilia from the interwoven clutter of her father’s side of the room. Thankfully it all finds its own way to the floor carefully and in a much neater fashion than it had previously been, due in large part she suspects to the mind magic she has come to associate with her Uncle. Her suspicions are confirmed when she feels a gentle not-quite-there pressure scratching behind her ear accompanied by the crisp scent of chilly mountain air. 

“I apologize I don’t have any rat snacks for you right now, but if you will wait until I am finished meditating perhaps we can go and find some.” 

Offering an affirmative Chirr in response, Hootise moves to a plush owlbear bed(definitely not just a big dog bed) set against the wall. Old and worn, with more patches than original fabric, the bed is nonetheless plump and slightly overstuffed as she circles three times before laying her head down on her paws. More often than not she just sleeps in bed with her Dad but he says it’s important for her to have her own space as she grows up(even if it does take up almost a quarter of the floorspace of their wagon).

Uncle Frosty had tried to explain the concept of his meditation to her before, something about emptying your mind and becoming at peace with the universe, but truth be told she had just nodded until he gave her a rat. Regardless, it's more peaceful than the chaos of the beast tent and her toys are here: an army of little wooden figurines her Dad had made her: detailed carvings of all of the characters from Sea Cucumber Robert Rectangle Trousers, an ever expanding cast of monsters each of which her father had named and taught her the significance of, and a wooden representation of her strange family(though to a little previously orphaned owlbear it’s not that strange at all), complete with a painstakingly accurate Hootsie made of aromatic pine. 

Later, one Gricko Grimgrin rushes about the Carnivalé in a state of utter panic. Searching for his wayward adorable-lovely-perfect daughter. In all of the excitement of being waylaid by Kremy and then almost trampled by an agitated Oliphaunt he’d somehow lost track of her and after searching the entirety of the beast tent, the big top, and the rigged games he’ll admit he’s started to lose his famed collected and indifferent demeanor. 

“Hootsie! Hootsie! Hootsie, where are you?” Not pausing for so much as an answer, the flustered goblin continues rushing through the rows of canvas and out towards the collection of brightly painted wagons. Bursting through a green and red painted door he shouts: “Frosty you gotta come quick! Hootsie is missing and I can’t find her anywhere!”

“Careful Gricko, you’re about to cross the picket line.” A cool voice cautions. 

Taking a moment to examine the scene in front of him, he sees a variety of wooden figures placed purposefully about the room. On Frosty’s side of the rug stands little wooden Kremy and Gideon and, is that Necky? As well as (he thinks) Mr. Lobster and the sea cucumber himself under a building made of stacked books. Outside, a line of figures hold tiny parchment-scrap signs, at their forefront being tiny birch Frost and Hootsie. Speaking of; his daughter herself sits, enraptured by the tableau, a paper beside her covered in colorful scribbles under a pristinely penned headline reading ‘Notes’. 

“We’re learning about ethical labor practices.”

“Uh-huh. You know the last time I brought that up I woke up in the back of the wagon on the way to a farm.”

#just wanted to write Hootsie bonding with all of her uncles #that's it that's the whole thing #(next chapter is Gideon) #legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #gricko grimgrin #morning frost #hootsie grimgrin #fanfic #cthulhu's stepmom