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#I can't tell whether they have high or low expectations of me
natlovesls2 · 1 month
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Project Valentine
Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: no use of y/n, swearing, feels a little rushed
*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 1.1k
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: You're lonely and Logan wants to be a good friend
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‧₊˚ ✩°。⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆。°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°。⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆。°✩˚
"I'm tired of being lonely every year for Valentine's Day," you groan into one of the heart-shaped throw pillows on your couch. You hated Valentine's Day– absolutely despised it. You always sat alone, watching the intoxicatingly cute couples on dates. This would be the fourth year in which you would have no date for Valentine's Day, and if it were up to you, it would be your last (you would destroy the holiday, obviously). It wasn't a choice you had willingly made, but no matter how hard you tried, you always managed to be single during Valentine's Day. 
Logan laughed at your distress, finding your overreaction to being single hilarious, "I'll help you find a date if that will make you happy."
"Oh fuck off, stop laughing at me," you threw the throw pillow at him, laughing as it smacked him in the face. 
"Rude, and I'm not laughing at you. I'm being very serious right now."
"You'd help me find a date?" you asked, sitting up and turning to face him, waiting and expecting him to burst out laughing. Sure, Logan was a great friend, but he never turned down the opportunity to tease or make fun of you. You had expected him to poke fun at the fact that you had once again managed to find yourself without a partner to spend the day with. 
He nodded silently, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, head slightly tilted to the side. His smile widens the more he stares at you, "So, what do you say, can I start Project Valentine?" 
You can't help but wonder how he could possibly help when you've struggled for so long. The uncertainty of whether or not this could negatively impact the structure of your friendship. You often spoke about your romantic relationships with Logan but never went into depth about why they all seemed to fail. You suppose it was fear, fear of commitment, or fear of getting too attached to then be abandoned. That fear also held you back in your friendship, which brings you back to that uncertainty you felt– everything was connected. 
"Stop staring at me like that; do you want my help or not?"
"I do, but– yeah, I want your help."
"Good, now tell me what your type is," he says, standing from his spot across from you to sit beside you on the loveseat. 
"I don't know. I guess I just want a nice guy." 
"A nice guy? Are your standards truly that low? I always thought you would have higher standards."
"They are not low." They truly weren't low, in your opinion. Of course, they were more complex than just a "nice" guy, but you didn't want to seem picky in front of Logan. It was a running joke that you couldn't hold boyfriends because of your high standards and maintenance.  
"Yes, they are," he teased, jokingly shoving you.
"Are not."
"Are too," he reached over– tickling you, and you desperately attempted to push him away, laughing loudly at his actions. 
"Stop it," you say, continuing to laugh– holding onto his shoulders as he finally stills. He looks into your eyes, deep in thought, making you wish you knew what went through his mind. He always seemed to be thinking about something, especially when he's around you– it's something you've noticed as your friendship grew. "What's going through that brain of yours?" you ask, running your hands through his hair. 
"I don't think I can help you..." he whispers, resting his head on your chest.
"I knew this was some sort of joke for you," you shoved him off of your chest, sitting up. 
"This isn't a joke."
"No? Then what is it? Because right now, it feels like you're going to say some bullshit about me never being content in my relationships. And honestly, Logan, I'm not in the mood for this shit. I genuinely wanted your help and was trusting you with this," you angrily rambled, refusing to look at him. It felt as if your blood was boiling; you felt like those cartoon characters with the steam coming out of their ears. You could see his lips moving as he worked up some, in your humble opinion, lame excuse– but the ringing in your ears impeded you from hearing. 
"I love you, okay," Logan said as the ringing in your ears subsided. You froze, staring blankly at him– this had escalated quickly, too quickly. The ringing returned as your heart began to beat a million miles an hour. 
Logan frowned as the silence in the room grew; he sighed looking up at the ceiling and resting his head against the backrest of the love seat. "I'm sorry– please say something; I don't want to ruin our friendship. And I know I'm stupid... god, this was so fucking stupid. I'm sorry, okay?" 
You continued to stare at him, shock evident on your face. It felt impossible to speak, though you had so much to say. From the moment you heard those words, you felt thousands of repressed memories flood your mind. Memories in which you felt things you had thought were inappropriate to feel between friends. Memories that at this moment you wished to share with him. 
He quickly turned to face you again, "Actually, I'm not sorry. I'm tired of pretending that I don't feel this way– tired of hiding my love for you."
You felt as if your body had been possessed by someone else as you grabbed his face and smashed your lips against his. It was a desperate kiss, something you had both been waiting for– rushed and messy. He gently pushed you down, resting you against the couch as he deepened the kiss. You felt your head spin as his hands tangled against your hair, somehow pulling you closer than you already were. "I love you too," you pulled away for a moment– wanting him to know that you reciprocate his feelings. 
"I thought so," he pulled you back into a kiss, seemingly not wanting the moment to end as he slid his hands down to rest on your hips. "I think Project Valentine was a success," he whispered, planting a few kisses on your neck, and smiling down at you. 
You had hated Valentine's Day– absolutely despised it. But as you lay there with Logan, tangled in each other, you couldn't help but love it. You loved everything about it, the cultural meaning of it, and even the intoxicatingly cute couples. You wanted to experience everything about the day you had hated just this morning. You couldn't wait to spend next Valentine's Day with him– and all the Valentine's Days after that.
‧₊˚ ✩°。⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆。°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°。⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆。°✩˚
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crimson-calligraphyx · 7 months
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What do four best friends do when they can't agree on where to go on their next "Girl's Trip"? Well, they have a competition—whoever wins gets to choose where to go. The catch? It involves candy underwear and subtlety. Disclaimer: this is completely fictional. I do not own Bad Omens or anyone affiliated with them. This is a RPF; don't like? Don't read. Hope you enjoy! 😊 Sexual content: oral sex & fingering; female receiving. slight knife play. Word count: 5,204 Costumes: Anastasia Riley Adeline I think y'all can picture Gemma's costume Candy thong Tag list: @kingdomof-omens @cheyfi @daylightlvrs @blade-in-red @ladyveronikawrites @jay02bo *if you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!
Heavy bass vibrated through not only the walls of our home, but the entirety of my body, shaking me to the core. The air in the foyer was thick with the smoke billowing from the fog machine, creeping low against the wooden floors and swirling as I walked through it.
Continuing through our home, I couldn’t help the nagging thought in my head of whether we really should have a strobe light going or not. It was starting to make me dizzy; the last thing we needed was someone dropping in the middle of the living room from a seizure, but the girls insisted it was necessary for the night and told me to stop being such a worry wart.
It was Halloween night, and the girls and I were getting ready for the impromptu party we threw together. We invited practically the whole block, shoving flyers into their mailboxes the night before, not expecting half of them to show. Still, we went all out and bought two kegs and brought out the entirety of our liquor cabinet, along with probably a dozen pizzas just in case.
It was LA after all, and word does spread like wildfire here, so maybe there was a chance of a huge turnout.
I made my way up the stairs and into my bedroom to check on how the others were doing with their costumes, stopping short when I got a look at Gemma’s outfit. Nicholas outdid himself—the ‘ink’ on Gemma’s arms was that of Noah’s, though rushed from the amount of time we had to get ready. Still, he did his job, and you could tell they were supposed to be the crimson waves and the grayscale portrait Noah had. And of course, the snake with the forbidden fruit on the neck.
Gemma stood with a proud smile on her face, waving her hands up and down her body to brandish her outfit. I snorted, taking in the cropped black tank top, short black skirt, and fishnet combo. She had a white shoelace around the waistband of the skirt to mimic the drawstring on his stage pants, and even had the chain necklace and bracelet he wore on his left wrist.
“Single glove or hand wraps?” she asks, holding up one in each hand. “The glove is more infamous in my opinion, but it might get sweaty,” I shrugged. “Up to you.” She tilts her head back in forth, pondering before settling with the hand wraps. She tossed the glove onto the bed, hitting Adeline with it, who was lying on her stomach.
“If you’re gonna hit me in the ass with a glove, make sure your hand is in it,” Adeline teases, looking back at us over her shoulder. "Duly noted," Gemma laughs and makes her way over to the bed, promptly slapping Adeline over her bustle-clad ass. "What even are you?" Adeline rolls over and stands up, picking up her fedora and placing it on her head. She points to the holster strapped to her thigh that holds a knife, presumably fake. "I'm a monster hunter. You know, like if the Winchester's had a sister." Gemma nods her head slowly, "Riiight, gotcha."
I shake my head at them with a smirk playing on my lips, turning my attention to the mirror. I adjusted the frilled collar around my neck, hoping it wouldn't suffocate me too much during the night, followed by the thigh-high stockings, having the bells on my skirt jingle as I moved. "You think I should do some sort of clown makeup or just leave it with the smokey eye?" I asked, turning to Nick. "Nah," he shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer. "I think it's fine the way it is."
I shrugged, accepting his answer, and tightened the pigtails on my head one last time just as Riley made her way into the room. I gasped when I saw the orange tattered dress and burlap hood, adorned with Sam's stitched face. I was astonished at how good she looked. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to make herself small as a pink tinge formed on her cheeks. I knew she felt uncomfortable, completely stepping out of her comfort zone, but her costume really was amazing.
"Is it that bad?" she asks, digging the toe of her platformed boot into the carpet with uncertainty. "Girl, no! You look amazing!" I reassure her, motioning for her to spin around so I could get a full view. She obliges, hesitantly spinning and extending her arms out by her sides, the skirt of her dress swishing around her. She halts facing me, "Thanks, Stace," she giggles, the start of a confident smile spreading on her face.
"Alright bitches, now that we're all here," Gemma announces, gaining everyone's attention. She holds up her hand, clasped around a bundle of what appeared to be candy necklaces. "I have a little game for us to play tonight. Know how we've been fighting over where to go for our next Girl's Trip?" She asks, tossing each of us a string of candies with a sly smirk. I held the candy up in front of me, quickly realizing these weren't necklaces, but thongs. "Gem, what the fuck are you getting at?" I asked accusingly. She chortled as the rest of us girls exchanged wary glances, only imagining what she had in mind. "We're going to wear these tonight and see who can get rid of the candies the fastest. Winner gets to choose our destination," she winks, stepping into the G-string and sliding it underneath her skirt, completely disregarding Nicholas sitting behind her. "A-and how do you expect us to do that?" Riley asks timidly, the blush rearing her face again.
Gemma chuckles and makes her way over to Riley, taking the ties of the burlap hood between her thumb and index finger, and twiddling it. "C'mon Riles, use that brain of yours. You're gonna get each and every one of those boys at this party to take a nibble," she chomps the air playfully and tugs on the string to release the knot with a laugh. "Hey!" Riley gasps, throwing her hands on her head to stop the burlap sack from falling to the floor. "Not funny," she grumbles, situating the hood back in its original place. "I don't know, Gemma. That's a little... risque." "That's the whole point, Riles! Maybe you'll get lucky with Jol—" "Shh!" Riley frantically covers Gemma's mouth and glances briefly at Nick, her face now beet red and eyes wide as saucers.
I exchanged a knowing look with Adeline, both of us snickering quietly. It was no secret that Riley had a thing for Jolly, always growing quiet and tucking herself behind one of us whenever he was in the room. And when he spoke to her? Forget it. It's like her brain short-circuits and she forgets how to speak, only able to laugh and play with the hem of her shirt. It was cute though, and I knew that a part of this game Gemma had planned was to break Riley out of her shell a bit.
With a shrug, I slipped out of my non edible underwear and tossed it into my hamper, replacing it with the candy thong. It was a little snug, and felt weird as the chalky beads rolled over my skin, but I was determined to get this off as quickly as possible. I was desperate to go to Hawaii.
Adeline steps into my bathroom to exchange her underwear, and Riley looks between the three of us when she returns, visibly shaking. She takes a deep breath and makes her way into my bathroom, doing the same as Adeline.
"Y'all are crazy," Nicholas comments with a chuckle and stands up, slipping his Michael Myers mask over his head. "Please, like you don't want to take a nibble," Gemma winks, bending slightly and wriggling her hips in his direction. I could just imagine the eye roll that was hidden by his mask as he silently sauntered through us, heading downstairs. "At least he's in character," I snorted, and we shared a laugh then trailed after him, ready for our night of fun as we descended the stairs.
Hitting the bottom step, I could just barely hear the doorbell over the music blasting through our home, the bass still vibrating through me. I made my way to the door, throwing it open to be met with a pair of dark eyes, covered slightly by shaggy bangs and shimmering from the strobe light behind me. I take in Noah's blood-stained white T-shirt and jeans as he holds a Ghostface mask in his right hand.
A smirk slowly spreads on his face as I stared for much longer than I should have, soaking in how fucking easy it was for him to look so good, and I could feel my face start to warm. Heat simmers low in my belly from the way he locks eyes with me and smolders at me—he knew exactly what he was doing. Noah and I have been playing this cat-and-mouse game for months, both of us too stubborn to admit our feelings to one another regardless of how obvious it was.
I cleared my throat, "Billy Loomis, huh?" "How could you tell?" he chuckles. I rolled my eyes, "It's not like Scream isn't my favorite slasher or anything." He feigns surprise, his eyebrows rising. "Is that so?" he teases, that smirk finding his lips again. I remained silent while I watched his eyes trail up and down my body, taking in my Jester costume.
He slowly brings his eyes back to mine, lingering on my chest briefly. "So, you gonna let me in or am I supposed to party on the porch by myself all night?" "Right," I chuckled, opening the door wider, allowing him room to enter. "Welcome to the night circus, where you can be a freak on purpose," I shoot him a wink, waving my arm in a grand fashion. "Why thank you, Anastasia," he crosses through the threshold, the way he put emphasis on my name causing a shiver to roll down my spine. No one uses my full name.
His eyes never left mine as he brushed past me, the bells on my dress jingling as he ran a finger across the bottom of it. My heart pounds from the seduction in his eyes, his proximity, the anticipation of his fingers grazing my skin. I watched him disappear into the kitchen while the strobes gave the illusion that his body was lagging behind, leaving nothing but the fog swirling in his wake.
Huffing out a breath, I go to shut the door blindly, having a boot wedge between it and the frame. I looked up at the owner of said boot, belonging to Jolly, who stood there sporting a kind smile with fake blood dribbling down from the corner of his mouth. "Shit, sorry Jolly. I didn't see you there," I apologized with a grimace and stepped back to allow him inside. He laughs, and I catch a glimpse of the fake fangs settled on his teeth. "That's alright, I could see you were a bit preoccupied," he winks before making his way inside, trailing after Noah.
I felt my cheeks burn hot from embarrassment, and suddenly the collar around my neck was beginning to suffocate me. Shutting the door, I took a deep breath to recollect myself and calm my erratic heart. This was going to be an interesting night.
-
The night carried on, with dozens upon dozens of strangers funneling into our home. Half the pizza was gone, the kegs have been tapped, and I was feeling pretty good after a few drinks. I managed to get a couple bites taken from the candy G-string by said strangers, as did the others, but we appeared to still be neck-and-neck in our little competition.
Folio was running rampant around the house in his werewolf costume, sloshing beer in his wake, while Adeline and Noah were nowhere in sight. Riley had tucked herself in the corner of the living room, trying her best to make small talk with Jolly, who seemed very interested in what she had to say. And of course, Nicholas was taking advantage of his Michael Myers costume, sneaking up on people and scaring the shit out of them.
"Stacy!" I heard Gemma call my name as I snagged a slice of pizza. I turned towards her while taking a bite, perking an eyebrow up in questioning. "Come do a keg stand with me!" I rolled my eyes, swallowing the bite I took. "Let me finish my slice of pizza first, Gem. I haven't eaten all night!" She wasn't even paying attention to what I had to say, giggling as she skipped on over to the keg.
I followed after her, shaking my head with a chuckle as she threw herself onto Matt's back, who barely had time to register what was happening. He caught her just in time, nearly falling forward as he hooked her knees on his elbows, scolding her. "Matty," she laughs, "can you help me with the keg stand?" "If it gets you off my back, sure," he huffs. "I may be dressed as Goku, but I'm not a Super Saiyan, so you gotta find another person to help hold your drunk ass up." "Deal!" she lands a sloppy kiss on his cheek before sliding off his back, immediately waving me towards her.
I sighed and tossed my pizza onto the closest counter, knowing she would just keep pestering me until I obliged. Gemma takes hold of the handles and bends at the waist, beginning to hoist herself up by kicking her legs out. Matt and I exchanged looks and rolled our eyes at her impatience, both of us grasping a leg to steady her as she flipped upside down, her skirt falling and exposing the candy underwear.
"You ready?" Matt asks her, not even noticing that her ass was now exposed, and brings the spout to her mouth. She responds by giggling, taking the spout between her teeth. "Three, two, one... Go!" he counts down, opening the spigot and funneling beer to her.
It was messy at first as she continued to giggle, foam billowing from her lips, dripping into her hair and on top of the keg. After a moment, she stifles her hysterics and gets a better grasp on the spout, finally drinking it down as the room starts to count how long she could stay up.
"Gemma, what the fuck are you wearing?" Matt laughs just after the room counts to eight. I brought my attention to him; he finally noticed the edible underwear, unapologetically staring at her ass with a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Gemma starts to laugh, the spout falling from her mouth, which continues to pour beer all over the floor. Her arms buckle as she laughs harder, and she topples backward, landing straight on her back. She groans out in pain, only to erupt into another fit of giggles.
I snorted with amusement and shook my head at the sight before me, reaching for the spigot to close it. "Are you alright?" I asked her and promptly offered a hand to help her up. She accepts my hand and pulls herself up, stumbling to her feet. "Oh yeah, that was hilarious," she chuckles, turning her attention to Matt. "For your information, Matty, it's called candy underwear." "Right, but why are you wearing it?" She motions her head at me, "We're having a competition—me, Stacy, Adeline, and Riley—and for the life of us, we can't agree on where to go for vacation. So, like the genius that I am, I decided whoever can get all the candy bitten off by the end of the night, wins."
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "That is the stupidest shit you've ever come up with, Gem." He grabs a solo cup and starts to fill it with beer from the keg, "Where is it that you guys want to go that you can't agree on something?" I mimic his actions, filling my own cup. "I wanna go to Hawaii," I shrugged, followed by taking a sip of my beer. "Riley wants to go to the Bahamas, I think Addy wants to go to Niagara Falls." "What about you, Gem?" Matt asks, pointing his cup in her direction. "Las Vegas!" she shouts.
He nods slowly and takes a long sip of his drink, mulling over our answers. With the hand that was holding the solo cup, he points a finger at me and gives me a quick head nod. "Bend over, I'm taking a bite." "Excuse me?" I folded my arms over my chest, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Hawaii is the best option in my opinion," he shrugs, putting his cup down and closing the gap between us.
He sidles up behind me, lifting the skirt of my dress on his own as he crouches. I shiver from the feeling of his warm breath on my backside as he brings the candy into his mouth, his lips brushing against my skin. I could feel him pull on the string as he fought with it to break the candy, having it snap back into place when he successfully took what felt like a big chunk off. I glanced at Gemma with wide eyes, not expecting this from Matt, and she did not seem amused by any means.
"You better fucking win this shit, Stace," he mumbles and stands up, chewing on the candy. "That's the whole idea, Matt," I winked at him, tugging my dress back into place before returning to my pizza waiting for me on the counter. Gemma scoffs, "What about me? That doesn't seem very fair." "You said it yourself, Gem. It's a competition," Matt retorts. "One of you has to win, and none of you will if I take a bite off each of your asses." Her mouth drops open, appalled by his words, and she quickly exits the room with an exasperated exhale.
"Drama queen," he snickers as he washes down the sweets with a pull of his beer. "The other guys know about this?" "Nick does, not sure if the others caught wind or not. A few strangers were brave enough to take a nibble or two," I chuckled. "Well then, carry on. The night is still young." He bumps his cup with mine in cheers before trailing after Gemma.
With a shrug, I did just so and topped off my cup before heading into the living room. The air in the room was sticky from all the heat radiating off people's bodies, everyone practically shoulder to shoulder as they danced and drank whatever they had in their hands. I take a large pull of my drink, starting my journey through the sea of people until I lock eyes with those same alluring eyes from earlier in the night.
Noah stands there, leaning against the wall opposite of me with his arms folded over his chest. A smirk begins to spread across his face when he sees that he has my undivided attention, and my heart leaps into my throat from how long he holds my gaze. He only breaks eye contact when Nick sidles up beside him, lifting his mask to speak to Noah.
I take another sip of my drink, hoping to swallow my heart back where it belongs but to no avail. Whatever Nick had said to Noah only made his smirk grow, his eyes flickering back to me as he pushed off the wall and began to cut through the crowd towards me.
What the fuck did Nick say to him?
I straighten my posture as he stands in front of me, trying to give the impression that I wasn't beginning to crumble underneath his devious presence. He leans towards me, bringing his mouth so close to my ear that I can feel his breath ghost by it, a chill running down my spine. "Come with me," he says lowly, his tone immediately spreading warmth to my core.
He brushes past me, this time his fingers grazing against my thigh, and my breath gets caught in my throat. Taking another gulp of my beer, I followed him out of the living room and down the hallway that passed by the kitchen. He halts when we're away from the crowd, leaning up against the wall again with the same smirk on his face from moments before. He doesn't say anything, just stares at me.
Now annoyed by his silence, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why did you bring me here, Noah?" "Like you don't know," he chuckles. I squint my eyes at him, "What are you getting at?" He hums with amusement, pushing himself off the wall, and stalks towards me again, this time brandishing a knife. My eyes grow wide and I back against the wall, my heart pounding as panic starts to wash over me.
He snorts, lowering his hand. "Relax, it's fake. I'm just trying to stay in character. You know, Billy Loomis and all." I huffed, "That wasn't funny." "Mmm, was pretty funny to me. Shoulda seen your face." "Fuck you, Noah," I let out a breathy laugh. "So, you gonna tell me what's going on or can I go back to the party?" He takes another step towards me, tipping my head up with the blade of the plastic knife under my chin. I remained calm this time, knowing it was fake, and stared up at him as I waited for an answer. "A little birdy told me there's a competition between you girls. Is that true?"
So, that's what Nick told him.
"That is true," I confirmed. "And does it involve candy underwear, or was that a lie?" My throat goes dry; I swallow as my heart begins to pound again. "Y-yes," I stammered. "Interesting," he muses, tracing the blade leisurely down my throat. "I love candy necklaces; it's the same candy, right?" I nodded shallowly. "I may have to partake in this competition then if you'll allow it." I take a deep breath in as he continues to skim the knife across my breasts, dragging it down the front of my dress. I lost my voice while my reply swirled round and round in my head, dizzying me as I saw his eyes darken with mischief while he scrutinized my every move.
The knife reaches the middle of my thigh, and he changes direction, slipping it under my dress. He inches it back up my thigh, bringing the heat in my stomach to a simmer as it neared my center. I squeeze my legs together when he slides it between them, and he chuckles. "I'll take that as a no," he says, retracting the knife. "No, you may," I breathed. "Maybe without the knife, though." "Fair enough." He agrees, tucking it into his back pocket.
He lowers himself to his knees, leering up at me with hunger in his eyes as he fists the bottom of my dress. "May I?" I gave a quick nod and held my breath as his head disappeared under the skirt. He wastes no time at all; I can feel the tug against the strings as he takes a section of the beads into his mouth, his warm breath caressing my mound. I chomp down on my lip to hold back the mewl that wanted to escape me from the sensation.
The thong snaps back into place when he successfully takes a bite, causing me to jump slightly. I heard him chuckle, but he didn't pull back. Instead, he takes another mouthful, this time sucking them into his mouth rather than taking them in between his teeth. His lips brush against me ever-so-slightly, my body reacting to the closeness by clenching around nothing.
Fuck. This was turning me on way too fucking much.
"Noah," I warned. "I-I think you've had enough." He releases the candy, and they snap back against me, once again causing me to buck my hips forward. The sweets were now sticky from his saliva, the underwear even more uncomfortable now as the beads stick against my skin. His face emerges from my skirt, and he looks up at me through the dark bangs covering his eyes, licking his lips slowly. "Sorry, I just really like candy necklaces. Let me take one last bite."
He doesn't even wait for me to respond, heading back to where he just was. "No-waaah," I began to scold him for his behavior, only to be interrupted by the moan he elicited from me. He had slipped his tongue through the strings, padding it against my clit while he pulled on another mouthful of candies. "That bite tasted really good." He chuckles deviously, the vibration buzzing through me and sending another tingle through my middle.
He moves back, looking up at me with that same sly smirk he's been brandishing all night. "I really wanna eat it all. And I don't just mean the candy." Heat rises up my neck and across my face from his words, and my clit throbs just from the thought of him devouring every last bead before devouring me. I clenched my thighs together, trying to get some friction where I wanted it the most as I eagerly waited for him to touch me again.
"I know you want to win this competition, Anastasia," he mutters sardonically. "Why don't you let me help?" I swallowed harshly, giving him a quick nod. "Come with me," he coos, taking my hand as he stands, and brings me into the closest room.
It felt wrong as he shut the door to Riley's bedroom and locked it, and even worse when he shoved me playfully onto her bed. The feeling of guilt quickly diminishes, melting into desire as he slowly clambers onto the bed, settling between my legs. He bunches my dress up, exposing the edible underwear once again, lowering himself until his mouth was only a mere centimeter away from it.
He takes one single bead between his teeth, breaking it off and chewing it, all while staring up at me with fire burning in his eyes. He does it again, and again, his mouth dangerously close to my clit, until I couldn't handle him teasing me any longer. "Noah," I whined, wriggling my hips in front of him eagerly. "Please." "Ah, ah," he scolds, "you gotta wait until all of this candy is gone." He laughs when I let out an aggravated huff, taking another mouthful of the candy and sucking on it.
"Tastes so good," he moans out. "The candy is sweet, but your arousal makes it even sweeter," he muses, letting the moist candies fall from his mouth, slapping against my clit. I whimpered and bucked my hips forward, having him take the same candies back in his mouth and finally break them off. I breathed deep with anticipation, my chest heaving as I watched him lazily chew the sweets, his eyes boring into mine with animosity. "Hm," his eyes fall back to the thong, a satisfied grin grazing his lips. "Would you look at that, all the candies are gone. All there is left to eat is..." His eyes flicker back to mine, the smile only growing on his face. "You."
I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down with a bruising force while he brought his mouth down to me. He pushes the strings aside, never breaking eye contact as he runs his tongue along my soaked folds agonizingly slow, the look alone shaking me to the core. He takes his time, savoring me as he casually licks his way up to my clit, lolling the tip of his tongue around the sensitive bud.
"Fuck," I whispered, and my head falls back against the mattress. My eyes fluttered shut when he applied a bit more pressure to my clit, still moving in slow circles. I moaned lightly when he entered a finger inside of me, and then another seconds later. He unhurriedly curls them upwards, just barely pressing against that sweet spot as he carries on.
"Look at me," he mumbles against me. I don't move—I can't, not with the way he's paralyzing me, spreading bliss through my entire body with just his two fingers and tongue. "Anastasia," he says sternly, retracting his fingers. "I wanna watch those pretty eyes of yours roll to the back of your head when I make you come." I whimpered from the unwanted emptiness, once again clenching around nothing as I craved to be filled again. Knowing he wouldn't continue until I obliged due to his stubbornness, I had no choice but to pick my head up and look at him.
"Good girl," he chuckles lowly, his eyes glimmering with fervor. He rewards me by sliding his long fingers inside of me, thrusting them with urgency. It took every fiber of my being to not throw my head back down and cry out, knowing he would stop if I were to do that. He lowers his mouth down to me, working his tongue around my awaiting clit strategically, quickly building up my climax.
My legs start to tremble, my hips involuntarily lifting off the mattress to press my cunt harder against his tongue. "That's it," he moans against me, the bass in his voice vibrating through me. "Let go, Anastasia." His eyes darken as he continues to leer up at me, grazing his teeth against my clit before encasing it with his lips, sucking on it. His fingers continued to curl against my walls feverishly, beckoning me to come undone, his eyes commanding me to fall apart under his control.
The pressure continued to climb with each stroke against my G-spot, and I knew by the curl of his lips that he could tell I was close. The more my body trembled beneath him, the more he concentrated on his actions, watching the way my body reacted to him.
The spool finally springs loose inside of me, my hands fisting the sheets as I cried out from the ecstasy coursing through me. My eyes wrench shut, my body quakes uncontrollably, and he continues to carry me through my high, his actions relentless. He laps up every last drop of my orgasm with a breathy laugh, his hands pressed against my thighs to hold my legs open, not finished with me just yet.
He only stops when I go limp, collapsing against the sheets, and my chest heaves as I try to catch the breath that he knocked out of me. As I lay here, nearly comatose, I felt him pull on the strings of the candy thong one last time, only I didn't feel them snap back into place. “That oughta do it," he says confidently. I lift my head to look at him; the plastic knife is in his hand again, and the strings of the edible underwear are dangling off the blade.
I threw my head back and laughed—looks like I’m going to Hawaii.
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olderthannetfic · 3 months
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People going on about how they're representing this whole Greek thing are missing that that one anon had a pretty good point about how "cultural appropriation" rhetoric gets misused. People do really need to be more specific about what the issue is, or it very easily turns into basically just arguing for cultural segregation. I've seen that happen numerous times on this website over the years. I've seen people argue that it's appropriative to do something like *learn about* another culture or learn its language. I think it's really important for people to keep an eye on what are the actual issues with cultural appropriation (mostly about exploitation and colonialism) and not just the idea that cultural mixing is bad, or that being interested in a culture that isn't your own is bad. Because the truth is, whether you intend this or not, if you're just arguing that everyone should only keep to the culture of their ethnicity or their place of origin or both, then you're basically in agreement with white supremacists. It's not that cultures mixing is bad; most culture is a result of some mixture. It's when it's done in a way that's exploitative and/or disrespectful: like reducing sacred symbols like indigenous war bonnets to a fashion accessory, or incorporating the art of another culture into your own art without giving credit and without paying anyone from that culture who taught you or added to your work.
FTR, I don't think you can "appropriate" ancient mythologies. I think people are getting twisted around though because there is a genuine history of colonial exploitation of Greek artifacts by colonial powers to fill their museums, as with the Elgin marbles. I do think it's still a good idea to be properly informed about them, regardless, at the very least because those make for the more interesting retellings. For all that people (who IME, largely haven't read it, I'd love to hear if people who have read it disagree though) rag on Song of Achilles, I actually thought it was a pretty good example of a retelling because the author, who has an educational background in mythology, takes great pains to try to recreate the society and cultural norms of Greece at that time rather than sugarcoat it. Achilles may be even more of a jerk than he was in the original Iliad, tbh. It's telling to me that the author's other books that are less "shippy" don't have as negative of a reputation on here in that regard as Song of Achilles, despite being fairly similar, and it makes me wonder how much of that is because it's popular among "fujoshi fandom" so people just assume it MUST be shallow and fandomified, and I was super shocked at how much it really wasn't that at all. As well as I saw that a lot of people expecting something more like that were disappointed by all the period-accurate misogyny and so on.
Which brings me to another point: another reason I'm skeptical of a lot of this discourse is that it seems like often it's more of a high-culture, low-culture thing. A thing that is popular with M/M fanfic writers can't POSSIBLY be doing it right. A thing that is a popular video game or Tony-winning Broadway musical that is popular with the fandoms for those things, can't possibly be accurate. And I get that a lot of that is because a lot of populist things that took from Greek mythology have been inaccurate (Disney's Hercules, for instance) but if you're going to criticize the accuracy of something, I think it is worth engaging with the original work and what it actually does rather than just assuming It's Popular It Must Suck. It feels like a lot of this turns into lording that you were into it before X over others. And being aware that Tumblr Recommendations often do a poor job of actually giving you a good idea of what the work is really like.
As well as, of course, asking yourself - as we should with any sort of historical inaccuracy etc. - if the inaccuracy was deliberate or not. Sometimes people are not really telling that story in order to tell the most accurate version of something but to make a different kind of point, and so the changes might be deliberate. I would argue this is true with something like Hadestown.
That doesn't mean you can't still dislike it for that reason, of course. I know a lot of classical musicians who dislike the movie Amadeus for being so inaccurate about Mozart's and Salieri's lives. I like it despite that because I think the point it is trying to make is stronger for not sticking to the historical fact. I just wish more people did know the historical fact, though.
--
One would think the "Is it bad if I learn to cook Thai food?" thing was a strawman... but I've seen it in the wild far too many times.
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suuuupernovaaa · 11 months
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kelku
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kelku [ˈkɛl.ku] n. home, house
Anonymous Request: A female na’vi that is a half-caste of Omaticaya and Metkayina, who lives in the reefs and is assigned to teach the Sully kids. She acts tough but she's soft. Lo'ak is annoyed by her. They get into an argument and he tells her she has no idea what it's like to be an outcast, so she tells him about her past and how she was disowned.
Lo'ak is aged up to 20 or so.
Lo'ak charges away, his head held high but his spirits low, fuming at the conversation he just had with his father. He doesn't know whether he wants to scream or cry, and he can't figure out why his father has never taken the time to really listen to him.
Payakan isn't a danger to him, or to anyone else, but once again, Lo'ak's direct experience is dismissed. They'd rather listen to rumors.
"Lo'ak!"
He hears her voice, and his eyes roll back into his head as he turns to see her jogging up to him.
It's hard to say why Y/N bothers him, but she has since the very beginning. Something about her just digs under his skin. She has this air about her, as if she is looking down on everyone around her, and every word out of her mouth is so important that you must be quiet and listen when she speaks.
He can't stand her.
"What, Y/N?" he asks, more harshly than he meant to. Anyone else would flinch, but she doesn't, standing tall and proud, and he hates her all the more.
"I wanted to say, I believe you. I'm sorry no one else does. Payakan... I have always wondered, about him. I feel, it feels like he and I, we might, understand each other."
He narrows his eyes. She reaches out for his hand, and he yanks it away in disgust.
"What would you and Payakan have in common? Why the hell would you think that? He's an outcast, lonely, humble. You wouldn't know a thing about that!" He's practically yelling by the end of his speech, fuming at her presumption.
"You really don't know, do you?" she says, slowly and quietly, as she says everything.
"Know what?"
She gestures to her arms and says, "Do you not wonder why my arms are thinner than everyone else's, why my tail isn't as wide?" She grabs her tail, lifting it up. "Why my skin color is a little darker?"
Lo'ak shrugs. "No, why would I? I never noticed."
She scoffs. "Bah, of course. Lo'ak, my mother was Omatikayan and my father Metkayina. Once I was born, my mother decided she'd had enough of the ocean, and went back to her forest people. My father was struck with grief and the weight of raising a child without her mother, and disappeared. I have never understood why you don't like me, but it's not foreign to me either. I was raised by the clan, but they made it known that I was other, and some blamed me for my father's disappearance. I am as outcast as you, or Payakan, though I am not so much an ass as you are."
With that, she turns on her heel, leaving Lo'ak with a slack jaw and a heavy heart.
--
It's a few days before Lo'ak tells anyone about his conversation with Y/N, and he chooses Neteyam to talk to.
"That makes sense," Neteyam says. "She always seems so sad, kind of reserved."
Lo'ak is surprised by Neteyam's impression of the woman. He'd assumed she was haughty, maybe spoiled, and thought highly of herself - it seems now that he mistook her quiet demeanor as a slight against him, when it was truly just shyness.
He thinks of all the times he rolled his eyes at her, glared at her, and dismissed her, and how she continued to show up and teach him anyway.
He has been horribly wrong about her, and he isn't sure how to fix it.
--
Diving sideways off the ilu, I glide through the water, propelling myself forward with my tail. Though it is a little bit smaller, it still gets the job done; I have never struggled keeping up here on the reef.
When I emerge from the water, pushing my hair out of my face and blinking the water from my eyes, Lo'ak stands on the beach, just a few feet away, staring at me.
I am still angry, but I'm trying to let it go. I don't expect an apology from him anytime soon, but I was hoping we could have avoided each other.
Talking about my past isn't something that I particularly enjoy, especially when I feel backed into a corner and forced to talk about it.
"Y/N," Lo'ak says, approaching, and I sigh. "I need to talk to you - to apologize."
He spreads his hands out, palms up, as if a gesture of good will or maybe defeat.
"Okay," I reply.
"I misjudged you. I mistook your quietness for... self-importance. I thought you were looking down on my family."
Shocked, I scoff. "What? Lo'ak, I never said a mean word to any of you!"
He sighs. "I know, I know. I just, I don't know, I got the impression that you thought we were stupid or, being with us was a waste of time, and it's hard enough, adjusting to being here. I didn't know, okay? I didn't know, and I'm really sorry. There's no excuse for how I've treated you. I just wanted to apologize."
I purse my lips. "Well... thank you, Lo'ak. Maybe, um, I hope we can be friends."
"Actually, I wanted to show you something. If you want to come with me?" He extends his hand, and after only a moment of skeptical hesitation, I reach out and take it.
--
Payakan is beautiful, just like my soul sister, but something in his eyes... he is sad, and lonely, and you can see the joy he feels when Lo'ak and I approach.
I press my face to his rough skin, right next to his eye, and spread my arms across him.
"Beautiful soul," I whisper, "how misunderstood you've been."
I sit back onto his fin, next to Lo'ak, and sign to the beautiful beast. "I am happy to meet you, brother of Lo'ak. I am outcast too. Half of the forest, half of the reef. I see you."
He's echoing clicks and whistles hit our ears. "I see you, Sister," he replies, and I smile, reaching for him once again.
I turn to Lo'ak, smiling. "Thank you for bringing me to him. He's wonderful."
Lo'ak smiles in return, and it's a beautiful smile, one I've only seen on his face when he's around his family. It makes my heart sing, for him to be smiling like that at me.
"You were right - you two were meant to meet."
"You know, you are Metkayina now too. You are brother of Tulkun." I reach over, placing his hand on my chest. "I feel happiest when I'm with my Soul Sister. She never makes me feel out of place, or to blame."
"To blame?" Lo'ak asks.
I shrug, removing my hand. "Some have said... if I wasn't born, my father would still be here. He was much beloved. Some blame my mother, for leaving us here, but some blame me."
"You were a baby, Y/N," he replies. He reaches over, taking my hand into his, and pulling it into his lap. "You didn't ask to be born, and you deserved nothing but love. You still do. I'll never forgive myself for how I've treated you."
I sign. "I know I can come off strange. I don't ever know what people are going to think of me, and I don't want to give them anything to judge. But I was too quiet, didn't smile or laugh enough, and made you think badly of me."
He shakes his head. "Don't blame yourself for this too. My siblings all think you're great. I'm the only ass."
I blush when he throws the word I'd used to describe him back into my face, but I know he's only teasing.
"Well, I'm glad we've gotten a second chance to be friends."
Payakan rocks us gently in the ocean as we talk, seeming happy to simply have company.
Lo'ak smiles. "Me too." He squeezes my hand tightly, and we stare at each other for a long, lingering moment.
I lean forward, catching myself by surprise, and press a soft kiss to Lo'ak's unsuspecting lips.
He is still at first, almost frozen, but as I pull away, he leans forward, capturing my lips with his for a longer, deeper kiss.
When we pull away, breathless, we both smile.
I have never felt more at home.
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mrs-santoss · 1 year
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High Fever - Neymar Imagine
heyyy can I request an imagine where I I sick and neymar takes good care of me ? ALSO I LOVE UR WRITTING that's why I ask U this request 💕💕💕💕
Someone's hand on my forehead and their whispers woke me up from my deep sleep. Every part of my body hurt, especially my head. I opened my eyes slowly and saw Neymar running his hand through my hair, looking at me concerned. "Y/N, wake up. You're burning up!" "Ney" I rubbed my eyes and examined the room, it was daylight. The sunlight coming from the window forced me to close my eyes again. "Yes, amor... I'm here, are you feeling okay? You have a fever." "My head hurts so bad, I also feel very cold." "Oh, bebê. I think you got sick from yesterday. Let's check your temperature and get some medicine." he kissed my forehead and left the room quickly. I grabbed everything on the bed including blankets, sheets and threw them on myself. I hate being sick. Neymar came back with a thermometer and some fever medicine. It turned out I had a slightly high temperature. I took the medicine and laid back on the bed closing my eyes. "Is there anything else you need, bebê?" he said while running his hands through my hair as he sat next to me. "Can you lay down with me, Ney? And keep playing with my hair?" "Of course, amor." He did what I asked and we stayed like that on the bed. I could tell my headache went away because of the medicine, but I still felt hot. I can't remember falling asleep at some point. Neymar's POV: I woke up this morning expecting her to be awake already because she usually wakes up before me. I turned around and hugged her when I felt her hot skin. After a few calls, she didn't wake up. That's why I decided to shake her harder to wake her up and check her state just in case we need to visit the hospital. I took care of her and gave her some medicine, she fell back to sleep. I put on a movie to watch in low volume as I laid next to my girlfriend. Halfway through the movie, Y/N began moving and talking in her sleep. She was sweating a lot, I could tell she was having nightmares because of the fever. I pulled the cover of her body to see her shirt wet from sweat. I was getting worried.
"Ney...No, let me g- Neyy..." I tried to wake her up softly at first, It made me sad to her scared whether it was a dream or not. I shook her shoulder softly. "Amor, wake up. You're having a nightmare. It's okay, I'm here." "Ney-" "Y/N? Come on, bebê. Open your eyes." She wasn't responding so I shook her harder this time. She opened her eyes quickly and scanned the room, gripping my hands tight. "Ney, is he go-gone?" She asked me in a scared voice. "No one's here, meu amor. It was just a nightmare, I'm here with you. Don't worry." I kissed her forehead and wiped her sweat. I had a bottle of water on the nightstand and I wanted her to drink it. After she drank the water, she fell back asleep. After two hours or so, I checked her temperature again and thankfully it went back to normal. I decided not to wake her up and let her sleep, it was almost the evening. I left the bedroom to eat some food and I prepared a chicken soup for Y/N to feed her once she wakes up. I finished the food and made my way back to the bedroom. I laid next to my beautiful girlfriend to seemed a lot better than before. I wrapped my hands around her and fell asleep. __________________________ I woke up and turned off the alarm. Y/N woke up seconds after me, she seemed a lot better now. "Morning, amor. How are you feeling?" I kissed her lips and placed her head on my chest again. "A lot better, Ney. Thank you so much for taking care of me." "Always, bebê. I'm always here for you!" "I love you so much" "I love you too, meu amor. Come on, let's get up. I prepared some soup for you yesterday and you didn't get to eat it."
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properplace · 3 months
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do you have any tips for someone who has been stressed out of their mind for the past six months and haven't even had time to consider sex?
it's like it doesn't matter whether I'm masturbating or with my partner, i can't focus on my bodily sensation, I'm stuck in my head :(
sorry if this is inappropriate, but you seem very smart and wise on the subject.
love your blog and your dynamic, you're amazing
I can so relate to this. It’s really challenging to get out of this while the stress remains high. I think I have a few tips for how you could approach this.
1. Address the stress - in therapy, I learned a variety of coping mechanism for managing stress and anxiety. If you’re able to speak to a therapist about strategies that work for you, I’d recommend it! One that came in handy was “put it in the fridge.” The idea here came from baking… if you’re making sourdough bread, you should let the dough proof overnight or it won’t bake or taste right. If you’re continuing to work on this stress mentally, even when it’s not the time to do so (like in the bedroom) it’s not going to bake well and it won’t have that well developed flavor from fermenting overnight. You need to put it away in the fridge and let it proof. Come back to it tomorrow and it will be ready to work on. Literally imagine putting it in a basket or jar and putting it in there! Alternatively you can do what you can to remove more stress from your life (say no to new commitments, take more self care time, etc).
2. Sexy Mindfulness - my Husband usually has to work a little with me to get me in the mood if I’m stressed out. He will let me know what tasks he’s going to take care of (or get them done first) so they’re off my plate. Assures me that things will keep for the hour or so we want to spend together. And then he’ll help me focus on playtime:
Blindfolding reduces my sensory input and calms me down
Dirty talk that walks me through the sensations I am feeling or want to feel. He will tell me to imagine them or describe them as they happen to me.
A little mindfuckery - he tells me all I care about is pleasing him. Not the time of day, not what there is to do tomorrow, not what’s on my work to do list. Then tells me what I DO care about: sucking his cock, being filled up, feeling his hands on my body, looking sexy for him, etc.
If you practice this, it’s easier to be relaxed by it. Maybe there are things that help you stay calm, like breathing exercises, back rubs, or other grounding things. Give them a try with your partner and keep the expectations super low. Baby steps.
3. Edging - this may or may not interest you, but edging has done amazing things for my ability to get in the mood. You might find that starting off with an early orgasm is better for loosening you up, but if I finish my libido shuts off lol. So you play this one by ear, but edging before we play is a game changer. And I get to pick exactly what type of porn I’m in the mood for to rev myself up instead of relying on matching up with his interests that evening.
Sometimes none of this is enough. And it’s just a tough season. It’ll come back… just be there waiting with open arms. Wishing you the best ❤️
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anonymouspuzzler · 9 months
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god help me i'm Writing
i did a little prose one-shot with Buck and Davey just to test out how it felt, and my buddies talked me into puttin 'er up, so now You All Must Read It Too. art at the bottom too if you make it through!
content warnings for: "Buck is basically about to have a panic attack the whole time" and "brief, not especially graphic description of that time Davey lost an arm", "maybe some secondhand embarrassment because Buck can't pick up a hint if his life depends on it", and "Like Exactly One Sex Joke". Okay Enjoy Or Don't
A bit of a crash after a job was standard. You know, the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by aches and exhaustion. The contrast of going from a dramatic heist or a bombastic fight, to mundanely washing up and scraping together dinner and such. The early stirrings of inevitable cabin fever, lying low for however long it took for things to blow over and the heroes to move on to newer, shinier threats. That ever-present, anxious itch at the back of his skull - the one certain that one day, his luck would run out, and he’d be tracked back here by someone who knew he wasn’t quite unkillable - growing just a bit louder in the aftermath of drawing so much attention to himself. Yeah, all that was normal; something he’d come to expect.
He was not currently experiencing that. No, the cold crawl in his gut as he looked around the empty hideout was decidedly not the usual post-job, I’m-gonna-be-cooped-up-a-while anxiety. This was new, and he knew exactly the cause.
Davey still hadn’t come downstairs.
No-- no, Dynamo. Dynamo hadn’t come downstairs. He kept letting himself slip like this, into that casual, dangerous familiarity. He absolutely could not keep doing that. He’d already gotten too close, crossed the unspoken boundary that kept them both safe in their line of work. It was exactly what’d gotten him into this mess in the first place.
For a few beautiful moments right after the heist, running on pure adrenaline and the high of victory, it had been like none of those concerns existed. Just him and Davey-- Dynamo; him and Dynamo-- and a giant, freshly-swiped stash of unstable compounds in the backseat. A job neither of them could have pulled off alone, and that had gone off with nary a hitch together. The strung-out, victorious cackles from them both, grinning wide, hands gripping each other’s shoulders, heaving breaths passed between each other so closely, he could still feel it in his lungs if he concentrated on the memory.
(So close to each other, that he could’ve lurched forward and kissed him like it was nothing. It took all his willpower not to do so, and that was one of many, many things here that terrified him; that his willpower could be so easily tested by what should have been the easiest, most obvious boundary.)
Of course, that moment couldn’t have lasted. Of course. It couldn’t have just from the baseline, but especially not when they had to deal with handing over the material to Practis. (Practis, stupid fuckin’ Practis, if he hadn’t owed them the favor he would never have gone to deal with ‘em.)
Davey-- Dynamo wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite. All it’d taken was one well-placed question from Practis while Buck had been busy unloading the goods, and all the dots connected from there.
“O-positive?”
“...excuse me?”
“Your blood type. It’s O-positive. Am I right?”
He’d cut in before they could talk any further, of course, hustling Davey-- Dynamo into the car and bidding Practis a curt farewell, but it was too late. Dynamo was silent as they drove off, tightly-drawn lips betraying that he was deep in thought, even with his eyes hidden behind his goggles.
Buck’s mouth had been dry. Barely able to glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, heart pounding as he wondered whether he ought to make small talk just to distract from the elephant in the room.
He didn’t get a chance. Davey spoke up first.
“You went to them for help when I lost my arm.”
It wasn’t a question. Buck couldn’t tell if the tone was meant to be just observational, or perhaps accusatory. “...maybe,” he answered regardless, cringing the second it was out of his mouth. Repulsed by his own noncommittal cowardice.
Davey would have been entirely within his rights to cuss Buck out for the breach of trust; for hiding that from him all this time, leaving him in Practis’ debt without even realizing. He stared down at his lap instead, silent for a long moment. “...this job was the payment for that,” he added, another not-question. Nothing for Buck to answer; to clarify. “You had to do all this because of me.”
“Not because of you,” he retorted, only mostly lying. “It’s, just… you know. And, you ended up helping me get this stuff for ‘em in the end. So, like. You’ve more than returned the favor, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not, actually.”
“Oh.” Shit. His grip tightened on the steering wheel; his eyes honed in on a suddenly-very-interesting stretch of empty road on the horizon. Great job convincing the guy he owed you a favor, Buck. (Why do you care? Why care what he thinks? Why do you need his approval so badly?)
“...why the hell’d you go through with it, Buck?”
Shit. The million-dollar question. The one he kept circling around himself, trying desperately not to confront the obvious answer. (His name, his real name on his lips, again casting aside the safety of Dynamo and Bulkhead.) He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, seeing his gaze averted, gloved hand just barely tracing the edge where his newly-minted battle prosthetic attached to the stump of his right arm.
He needed an answer. (Deserved one.)
“...well, you would’ve done the same for me.”
The truth of it lingered in the space between his words, and he was terrified Davey would catch on. Because yes, Davey would have done the same for him, but because, Buck suspected, he would do the same for anyone - far, far too kind; too adverse to death for someone in his line of work. But Buck - Buck would not do the same for anyone. For Dynamo-- for Davey, only for Davey-- he would. He would, he had, he would again.
(Because Davey was whip-smart and funny and kind and beautiful and he was all those things to him, of all people. And god help him, he was a sad, grouchy, lonely old man and apparently someone treating him like a regular-ass person, like someone to chat and banter and plot with, was all it took for him to start falling head over fuckin’ heels.)
The rest of the drive back was silent, and in some deep, horrible, cold part of Buck’s gut, he was certain Davey had heard the words between his words.
And now here they were. They’d pulled the car into the hideout, Davey had mumbled out something about doing a bit of cleanup in the workshop before turning in, Buck had nodded and mumbled something about washing up so the shower’d be free when he came downstairs, and now here he was discovering Davey still hadn’t come down. (Avoiding him. Had to be, right? He wouldn’t blame him. Hell, maybe he’d grabbed his stuff while Buck was in the bathroom and ran out for good.)
He managed about five minutes of awkwardly milling about the hideout, valiantly trying to convince himself he’d flip channels on the TV or get out something for dinner, before finally succumbing to morbid curiosity and slipping upstairs to see if Davey was still working in the shop. (Making up excuses, trying not to acknowledge the inevitable. Maybe he was just engrossed in some task or another. Maybe he needed help with cleaning up and hadn’t thought to bug him about it. Maybe he sat down for a minute and fell asleep in the backseat of the car. Anything that wasn’t “running off without a word because Buck got way too close to him for people in their line of work”.)
He wasn’t there when Buck got upstairs, and for a moment his heart sank into his stomach, but then he noticed the golden sunset-light filtering in around the corner - the garage door was open. Davey was just in the entryway, just out of sight, Buck rationalized. (He left the door open when he ran off, the more realistic part of him countered. All contradictions in his head right now, both desperately trying to protect his fragile heart and steeling himself for the inevitable reality of the heartbreak.)
He rounded the corner.
Davey was there.
He was there (he was there, he really didn’t run off), back to him, not yet noticing Buck had walked in. Watching the sunset, it looked like, orange-and-gold light spilling across his sharp shoulders and thick curls. He’d removed most of his work gear - the massive prosthetic, the helmet, the goggles, the gloves - leaving him slim and exposed compared to the imposing figure he cut on the job. (Exposed both metaphorically - though Buck knew better, anyone else would see him like this and think he was fairly vulnerable to attack without all his gadgets and armor - and literally, overalls hanging loosely by a single strap in a way that made Buck fight not to ogle.)
It was a quieter, softer moment than Buck expected to find. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to slip quietly back where he came, leaving Davey to his private contemplation. But, at the same time, he had already trespassed, and it felt wrong to keep that fact to himself, too - reluctant, he cleared his throat, trying to hit that careful, contradictory midpoint of gentle yet forceful; enough to alert to his presence without making it seem as if he was demanding Davey’s attention.
(Dynamo. Dynamo. Dynamo. He was slipping, he kept slipping, and it was getting more and more dangerous every time. Harder and harder to pull back.)
Davey-- Dynamo turned, sharp, eyes wide, hair bouncing in its ponytail with the force. (God, he was beautiful. Objectively. Purely objectively. Big eyes, thick lashes, the way he worried at his thin lips with his gap-teeth.) At a loss of what else to do, Buck forced a grin and waved; Dynamo responded in turn. (Warmth in his eyes, but tightness in his smile. The heavy, anxious feeling from the drive returned to Buck’s gut in earnest.)
“Hey,” Dynamo started, tone light. (Yet forced; Buck knew how he spoke well enough at this point to tell - and god, god, what a sign of the danger he’d put them both in, knowing him well enough to recognize that subtle tell.) “Sorry, I didn’t realize that, uh, y’know-- time-- I-I’m just watching the sunset.”
“Cool,” Buck replied, feeling somehow even more socially inept than normal. “Cool. I can, uh--” He gestured behind him, back to the door; trying desperately to communicate he’d leave Dynamo to his privacy if need be. (To reflect, to escape, whatever. Maybe both. Maybe reflecting on how much he clearly needed to get the hell outta there.)
“No!” His voice cracked with the suddenness of the exclamation, sending Buck’s brows skyward - that he’d never heard before. Davey-- Dynamo seemed embarrassed by the outburst on his part, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, gaze averted. “I mean-- nah, you don’t have to, you can, uh--” And he trailed off, gesturing dumbly to the empty space beside him, an unspoken invitation.
An invitation Buck, by all accounts, should have refused without hesitation.
…he didn’t, of course. Fuck, of course he didn’t. No, instead he shuffled awkwardly up to the empty space beside him, hands in his pockets, balled tight into fists. (He had the good sense to at least leave a polite gap between them, of course. Room for the Holy Spirit, he quipped to himself, trying desperately to lighten the mood in his own mind. He conjured an image of a cartoonish high school dance chaperone, screeching and shoving balloons between dancers’ bodies to force the distance. The thought only cheered him a minute before detouring into grim memories of his own high school dances, spent watching awkwardly from the sidelines, mooning over handsome young men who barely even knew his name. Multiple decades on and he still wasn’t too different from that pathetic kid. Fuck.)
Get back on track. Hands in his pockets, staring out at the (actually quite beautiful, damn) sunset, Dynamo beside him at a polite distance, doing the same. A variation on their side-by-side silence in the car before, but now with barriers removed - their expression-obscuring goggles, Buck’s imposing jacket, Dynamo’s massive prosthetic. Two men off the clock, without their armor, without defenses. (And he hated it, he hated how easy it was, how those walls just came down around Davey without him even thinking about it. This was rule fucking one of the villain lifestyle, not putting yourself in positions where you’re vulnerable around others. You never knew who might be just desperate enough to sell you out.)
(...Even if he was increasingly certain, in some part of his anxious mind, that Davey would never dream of doing so.)
“...You wouldn’t happen to have any cigarettes, would you?” Dynamo suddenly asked, finally breaking the silence. The question came so out of left field Buck couldn’t help but turn his head to stare, finding Dynamo’s gaze locked on the scenery ahead, left hand fidgeting subtly with the outer lining of his pocket.
It took a second for Buck to even process the actual, y’know, words of the question. “...no, I don’t,” he finally replied. (Even if he wanted to smoke, frankly - which he didn’t - his chronic asthma decidedly wouldn’t appreciate it, and asthma attacks were one of those little things his super-durability didn’t prevent. It chilled him how he had to actively stop himself from freely sharing that sensitive, this-could-actually-kill-me information with Davey.) “...you smoke?”
“No, I quit years ago.” A quick, practiced reply. Automatic, in many ways.
“...then why did you--”
“I don’t know.” A quick, barked laugh, no humor behind it. “Just get the craving when I’m nervous, I guess.”
The easy honesty of his words stuck in Buck’s throat, choking down any response he might have been planning. (Too honest, too honest. Was he like this with everyone? Or… did he dare imagine this kind of trust was only for him?) He should have dropped it, he needed to drop it for both their sakes, but unfortunately, his brain was still reeling and he instead responded with a quiet, “You’re nervous?”
A pause. Too far. Davey’s-- Dynamo’s expression was tight. “Maybe,” he replied, quiet. Honest. Too, too honest, fuck.
Buck’s gut twisted and flipped, instinct of shut this down shut this down you’re in danger fighting heartily with a desperate, primal need to return the openness he’d been shown. “...is it… am I…?”
“No. Yes? No.” A heavy exhale, Davey’s hand coming up to scratch at his face, fingers nearly catching at the edge of his now-healed scar. “It’s not you. Exactly. It’s not your fault. Fuck.”
The silence settled back in for a long moment. Buck’s heart was pounding in his chest far too hard for him to dare try and say a word. Davey, for his part, continued to look out into the distance, shoulders tense, hand having come to rest with two fingers on his chin. (Now that he’d asked about it, Buck looked at the gesture and could practically see Davey holding an imaginary cigarette between his fingers. Must have been a long-held habit before he quit, the muscle-memory burned in subconsciously.)
Finally, Davey-- Dynamo broke the silence again with a heavy, shaky sigh. Something in his expression Buck couldn’t quite read. “Listen. I-- I think I gotta say some stuff. I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna say. But I think I gotta talk it out anyway. So if you could, like-- I dunno. Just listen until I feel like I’m done, I guess? That cool?”
His heart was beating so hard, it felt like he was going to throw it up. This was bad. This was bad. He needed to stop this, put up the safe and comfortable barriers between them again. Before it was too late.
Instead, he choked out, “go for it,” because he was an idiot.
The way Davey’s posture instantly relaxed sent him spiraling - forgetting his self-flagellation in the gut response of I did that I made him feel less nervous, followed immediately by a vicious reversal, because that’s all it takes huh you’re so lonely and pathetic that all it takes is a guy kind of half-grinning at you for you to fall all over yourself - until Davey starting to speak snapped him back to the moment.
“I’ve just… been thinking about today,” he began. “And like-- more than that. But, today specifically. The heist and all. It was just… it went well. I mean, you know. You were there! You saw how well we worked together. And it… look, I’m just gonna say it. That was the most fun I’ve had doin’ one of these jobs, like, ever. And maybe I’m reading into it, but… it maybe kinda seemed like you were enjoying it, too?
“It all just… it got me thinking. About that, and livin’ here while I healed up - which, by the way, also has been the most fun I’ve had since I, y’know, started being Dynamo - and just, everything to do with all that, and I… well… you’re not gonna like this.” He chuckled as he said it, mirthless, raising a cigarette-less hand to his mouth seemingly without realizing. “But I… I think. There might be something to… us keeping up with this. Like, working together. Full time. Full-on villain partnership. And I know that’s like-- we’re not supposed to do that. Safety-wise and all. How risky it is for us both. But I-- god, this is gonna sound stupid. But I… trust you. I do.
“I mean--” He gestured emphatically to the stump of his right arm, the haphazard stitchwork Buck had done with shaking hands, kneeling over him on the garage floor all those weeks ago. “If you really wanted me out of the picture, I feel like you had plenty of opportunity and kinda fumbled the bag with it, you know? And I-- I dunno. I hope I’ve made it clear I don’t wanna do nothin’ to hurt you, either. Or that I… can make that clear, you know? Do whatever you need to believe it. But the point is, I-- I like workin’ with you. I think we do good work together. I think we could keep doin’ good work together. And I… want to. Do that.” A heavy breath, a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders like there’d been a physical heft to what he’d been saying. “Hoo!! God, really wish I had that cigarette right now. But, uh, yeah, that. I think that’s all. For now. Maybe. Yeah. Uh, yeah. Your turn, then. Thoughts, feedback, whatever. Go for it.”
His eyes were bright, his face split into a grin, but Buck -- he-- maybe he was reading into it too much. Maybe. But he could feel the anxiety rolling off Davey as he spoke, a mirror of his own. The words between words. Asking, practically begging for his approval the same way Buck kept longing for his.
His throat felt dry. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to, thoughts rolling frantic and aimless in his mind like marbles in a glass spiral. Words turning themselves over and over as his heart pounded and his stomach did enough backflips that it probably oughta qualify for the next Olympics.
We do good work together.
I trust you.
I want to.
Thoughts rolling themselves around in his mind. The dangerous pull, on the precipice of something he knew he couldn’t come back from. Exposed and armor-less here in the setting sun, nothing but the Holy Spirit and this question between them.
It was getting harder and harder to pull back to the boundary.
He had to. He knew he had to.
(Why?)
(He just had to.)
(...but why?)
Inhale. Exhale. Staring out into the sunset, filling the conversation with golden light. A warmth to counteract the anxious chill spreading from his gut as his mind worked itself into overdrive. He felt like he could choke on his own tongue, heavy with words he didn’t know how to speak. (Was afraid to speak.)
“...everything you’re saying is true,” he finally choked out. Almost without realizing it. It felt like he was watching someone else say it, just a little bit beside him.
Davey responded with a subtle, automatic grin and visible brightness in his eyes. It felt like it was putting his heart in a fucking vice. “Yeah?”
“I’m not finished,” he added quickly. Davey went still, went quiet in response. Automatically giving him the same space to ramble that Buck had given him. (Too much, too much, you’re in danger, what are you even going to say here, pull it back pull it back pull it back.) “Everything… everything you’re saying. Including that we’re not supposed to do this. And that it’s risky. Hell, risky doesn’t even begin to cover it; like--”
He felt sick. Panic welling up in his gut from all too many directions. (Shut it down, shut it down, before he notices, before he figures you out, you’re supposed to be the Invincible Fucking Bulkhead here--) “You. You do understand who I am, right? I’m Buck Armstrong. My family--” Bile in his throat, breathing tight; even to Davey, he couldn’t bring himself to reflect on his life before Bulkhead. Bring it back. Different approach. “No matter what I do - whether I’m stealing classified materials or a carton of eggs from the corner store, there’s gonna be a massive target on my back ‘cause of-- where I come from. And if you start associating with me full-time? Publicly? That target’s gonna be on your back too. And you--” His voice was breaking. Swallow it down, swallow it down, don’t let him notice. “...You can’t bounce back from it like I can.”
(There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood and it had been his fault, Davey jumped in because he’d already figured out Buck was weak, that he wasn’t as unkillable as he tried to make everyone believe, and he’d known and he jumped in the way and saved his life and look what he’d gotten for his trouble bloody and shaking and heaving in the dirt there had been so much so much he could see the bone he didn’t know what to do he just couldn’t let him die there for him he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t not like that not for him not for him)
“...I mean. Yeah?”
The sheer casual-ness of Davey’s response snapped Buck out of what probably would’ve been a full-blown meltdown otherwise. He snapped his gaze over; Davey was staring back with the kind of mild dumbfoundedness one might get saying hey little-known fact, did you know water is wet. “Buck, I know who you are,” he continued, still utterly blasé about it. “This isn’t my first day in town, ya know. I’ve known about The Invincible Bulkhead since way before you and I started crossing paths.” (He winked at that, and Buck felt his panic coming from a completely different avenue now. God fucking damn it why’d he have to be hot.) “Point is, I’m not, like… stupid. I know your life is dangerous. I’m not saying all this, like, ignorant of that. I just…”
Now he hesitated, averting his gaze, moving to scratch the back of his neck again. Buck’s heart pounded in his throat. “I. I guess what I’m saying is that, it’d be worth it. For me. Like, ‘benefits outweigh the risks’ kind of situation. I mean, honestly, I’m gonna be living on the edge no matter what in this line of work, might as well have fun with it. So, uh. Guess what I’m saying is. If the only opposition you have to the idea is that I’m gonna be putting myself at risk without realizing it, you can toss that right on out. I know what I’m doing. You’re-- this is. Worth that risk.”
(The stumble of you’re felt dangerously deliberate. All at once he screamed in terror at it and clutched it close like a token.)
…was that his only opposition? If-- if Davey really was going into this knowing all the risks, wanted to go through with it anyway-- well, he was a grown-ass man, you know? And a smart one at that. (Smarter than Buck, it felt like, in more ways than one. He was constantly finding new ways to be impressed by this guy.) Did he… was there anything else, besides the whole well THEY say we’re not supposed to do shit like this, no I don’t know who THEY are either, which… all told, held increasingly little weight to him as the conversation went on. Was there anything, anything at all, that could convince him to stop this?
…oh, god, there was one thing.
There was one.
His whole body felt cold. His heart pounded so hard and so fast that it looped back around to being intangible to him, too quick to notice. Oh, god. Oh god. The one thing. The one thing that could take this sudden dream come true and throw it right back in the trash where it ought to be.
It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to Davey, to not put it out there, to not say it. To invite him into this partnership and have him inevitably figure it out down the line, be ambushed by it. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair.
He had to say it.
He would give anything not to say it.
But oh, god, it wouldn’t be fair.
(Davey, stupid beautiful Davey, lit at all his most gorgeous angles by the golden light of the setting sun, watching him out of the corner of his eye, surely waiting for an answer. Davey, who he wanted so selfishly to keep here with him.)
He was at the edge of the cliff now. Teetering on the precipice. There was no going back if he did this.
But it wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t.
“...There’s one thing.” He felt like he was watching himself speak from a distance, words slow and heavy and cold on his tongue. He didn’t dare turn to look at Davey. Eyes trained on a suddenly-very-interesting point on the far horizon like it could get him out of this self-dug pit.
“...Yeah?”
“One thing,” he repeated. His whole body felt cold. God, Davey could probably see him sweating, even from the arm’s length away he was standing. He’d be lucky if he didn’t throw up in front of him by the end of this conversation. “If-- if we’re really going to seriously consider this. I have to tell you. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell you.”
“All right.” A long, long pause, tangibly so. Oh, god. His gut was so tight and cold it felt like he might shit blocks of ice, and then probably just keel over entirely to avoid engaging in this conversation further.. “...are… are you going to…?”
“Trying,” he choked out. Davey went quiet immediately. (Giving the space, waiting for him to be finished speaking. Fuck. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t do this. Maybe he could just walk it back, pretend he was joking, ignore this whole conversation and just go back to the way things were this morning, before the stupid heist that had made everything go so complicated. But--) “It wouldn’t be fair. If I didn’t. Say this to you now. If I let you, like-- stay here and start working with me and uproot your whole life and didn’t tell you this and let you-- let you opt out.” (Because he would, surely he would, there was no way he would just let it go once he did.)
He went quiet again. Davey didn’t interject this time. Waiting for whatever he had to say.
(Couldn’t pull it back. He couldn’t pull it back again after this.)
His hands clenched white-knuckle at his sides. Sweat down the back of his neck. He had to say it. He had to. He had to. And then Davey would leave and he’d go back to his normal pathetic life and never see him again.
His mind, miles away as he finally forced his mouth open, idly noted that it’d probably been over twenty years since he last made himself say this out loud to another human being.
“...I’m. I’m gay.”
No response. Whether the polite space to continue or the cold silence of judgment, he couldn’t tell and he was scared to dwell too far on it. Forced himself on; no turning back now. “I’m-- gay and I. You. It’s. I-- I think you’re a v-very. Attractive man. And that’s--” he all but retched; suddenly the words were pouring out of him rapid-fire, like he just had to get them out of him no matter the cost-- “I’m not saying that cause I think you’re, like, obligated to be okay with that if you stay, I-I just know it’s not fair to have you like, living here without knowing that-- like most people wouldn’t be cool working with someone they know has a big stupid crush on them so like it’s no hard feelings I can pretend we never talked about this and you can just go and we can just wave from a distance when we run into each other during jobs and it’s fine it’s cool.”
And there it was.
Oh, god, and there it was.
The careful, safe boundary of Bulkhead and Dynamo was no more. Instead, Buck Armstrong, pathetic, lonely, middle-aged man with a big stupid gay crush, stood there sweating like a pig and watching the sunset on the horizon, waiting to hear sweet beautiful Davey turn on his heel and walk out of his life forever.
Davey laughed.
His head snapped around so fast he swore he could hear the vertebra crack. That-- much as that awful little voice in the back of his head wanted him to believe otherwise, he knew that wasn’t a mocking kind of laugh. No, no it was quick, breathy, high; the kind of laugh he’d heard from Davey as they drove away from the scene of the crime earlier; the kind you let out when you were so overjoyed and relieved that all you could do was laugh.
Davey was staring at him. Davey was smiling. Ear-to-ear, crinkling up the corners of his shining eyes, golden and glowing in the sunset light.
An entirely different kind of chill went up Buck’s spine.
“I was hoping--” Davey started, and then laughed again, drawing a hand back through his hair. “I mean-- you, you get the vibes, you know, but you don’t know if it’s just you reading into what you want to see or if it’s actually there--”
“You were hoping?” He repeated, quiet, dumb, cracking in the back of his throat. Did he hear that right? He couldn’t have, right? Or it was like, slang for something? He didn’t know slang. It was probably some kind of slang that didn’t mean anything remotely like it sounded like. That was the only thing that made sense here.
Davey barrelled on like he hadn’t even spoken. “I mean, all the banter when we ran into each other on jobs, right? And-- and I kept trying to tease it out, like, see how you reacted if I got kinda flirty, but I still wasn’t sure and what was I supposed to say, hey Buck thanks again for not letting me die alone in the dirt by the way do you like men. Like, come on--”
“What you wanted? Flirty?” Surely none of this meant what it sounded like it meant. Surely. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he finally got so panicked he died, like a rabbit does. That would make sense. That would make sense. That was the only thing that would make sense.
Davey finally stopped speaking.
Buck froze.
Davey turned. Eyes on his. Boring right into him. And then he smiled, a different kind of smile, slow and warm and half-lidded in a way that instantly turned that icy chill in Buck’s gut into something molten-hot instead. The slight part of his lips around gap teeth; the crinkle in the corner of his brown eyes; the something something something undeniable in the way he looked at him.
He took a step forward. Buck remained frozen in the headlights of his gaze.
A hand, reaching out, slow, gentle - enough to pull away from if he wanted (like he ever fucking would) - fingers grazing across his knuckles and taking his hand. A slim, calloused thumb circling against his palm in a way he could only possibly describe as intimate, fingernail catching ever-so-slightly at the skin.
He stared down at their hands like it was something utterly alien. (Which-- might as well be. When was the last time he held hands with someone? Oh my god, was he so utterly lonely and pathetic that he was reacting like this to holding hands??) Moved his gaze back, heart pounding at that warm, warm look of his, straight down into his soul. He was so close, now, obliterating the Holy Ghost between them; that imaginary chaperone must be losing their ever-loving shit right now. He was certain Davey could feel his hummingbird-pounding heartbeat this close, smell the way he’d fear-sweat so badly during this conversation he already needed a second shower. (As it stood, he could already feel the slight rise-and-fall of Davey’s chest as he breathed, smell the detritus of the car and the dried-sweat stench of earlier exertion.)
They were back in the car after the heist again. Close, so close, passing the same breath between each other, close enough that Buck could easily just lurch forward and--
It had been a very, very long time since he’d done this. His nose bumped Davey’s, mustache catching awkwardly at his lip; Davey simply hummed a laugh into his mouth and tilted his head to better the angle. Fuck. His lips were thin and chapped; his teeth dragged across Buck’s lip and bumped momentarily into his own as they drew closer. (Maybe, he thought with uncharacteristic optimism, it’d been a while for Davey, too.)
One final half-step forward, the last of the gap gone. Buck’s massive barrel-chest awkwardly slotting against Davey’s sternum, his hand squeezing as they pulled together. He drew his other hand up to rest against the back of Davey’s neck without even thinking, feeling the baby-hairs at his hairline against his fingertips. Passing the same breath between each other, slow and warm and deliberate.
They pulled away too quickly. They pulled away after a million years. Buck’s eyes fluttered open, finding Davey smiling down barely inches away, cheeks dusted red, a terrifying adoration in his eyes, framed golden at the edges by the sunset-lighting in a way Buck was already scrambling to commit to memory.
It was all too much. He was going to-- fuck, start crying, or throw up, or both, and he frankly didn’t want to ruin this moment with either. So instead, burning beet-red, he ducked his face into Davey’s shoulder because it was the only place he had to hide. Davey - sweet, perfect Davey who just let him kiss him, what the fuck, that was real, right, that was real - just laughed again, light as anything, and he felt his face come to rest on top of his head, still toying with Buck’s hand in his grip.
“Take it there’s no further arguments, then?” He giggled. Buck could practically hear the wink in his voice, and it did nothing to calm him down.
“God. God. You really are serious about all of this.”
“Christ, Buck, yeah. What’s it gonna take to convince you I mean it? I could kiss ya some more, if you want. No opposition to that.”
“Fuck, man.” He couldn’t help but wheeze out a laugh himself, relief suddenly forcing itself out of him in waves. (Holding Davey like this felt really nice. Really nice. Wonder if he’d let him keep doing this.) “Fine. Yeah. Yeah. If you’re really so sure you wanna settle for dying in this shithole with me.”
“Don’t be silly! I’ll die outside this shithole with you. We’re infinitely more likely to beef it on the job.”
“God. Fair enough.” A slow inhale, head swimming with the smell of Davey. Dear god it all kept sinking in. “I know-- w-what I said still stands, you know, you don’t-- you’re not obligated to reciprocate or--”
“You think I’m feeling obligated? Christ, Buck,” Davey laughed again in reply, squeezing his hand tight. “You really haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been trying to goad you into making out with me practically since we met.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“No, see, that’s what I was hoping my flirting’d eventually lead to--”
“Christ alive, Davey--”
“Too much?” There wasn’t the slightest hint of repentance in his tone.
“You’re the worst.”
“You like it.”
“...I do.”
Another sweet, slow laugh; Buck felt Davey press another kiss to the top of his head and thought he might spontaneously combust. “Well, I like you too. You wanna head upstairs about it? I need a shower.”
“Mhm. Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Just… I need a second.”
“All good.” A long pause, a warm silence. Davey’s thumb still stroking circles into his palm. “...uh. One thing. If you mean you wanna stay down here another minute while I head up, I, uh. You gotta actually let go of me.”
He blinked. Somehow he’d gotten so wrapped up in holding Davey, he’d forgotten he was doing the holding. “Oh. Oh, uh-- right. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”
His bastard traitor of a body did not release his hold on Davey.
Lucky for him, Davey responded to the clear freeze-up with a good-natured chuckle, finally releasing Buck’s hand to trace up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, holding him in return. “Or, y’know. We could just both take a second. Go up together when you’re ready.”
“I-- th. Y. Yeah. Yeah.” His burning cheeks had spread to a slow warmth all through his body, tingling at every nerve, lit up with the long-forgotten ecstasy of human contact. He moved his own freed hand to the small of Davey’s back, settling against him, for a moment forgetting all his usual terror of vulnerability. Somehow, somehow, against all logic, against all odds, he felt safe here.
Bulkhead and Dynamo disappeared, up on the shelf with all their gadgets and armor. Buck and Davey remained, holding each other close, breathing the same breath back and forth, illuminated in the golden light of sunset.
Tumblr media
[Image ID: A digital illustration of Puzz's OCs, Buck (a middle-aged, barrel-chested white man with balding red hair, a large nose and a bushy mustache, wearing a green turtleneck, kahki pants and brown boots) and Davey (a middle-aged, lanky black man with amputated right arm, diagonal scar across his face, large ears, large eyes with long lashes, large eyebrows and curly dark-brown hair in a ponytail, wearing overalls with one strap down and pointy brown boots). They are hugging each other tightly, with Davey's back slightly facing the camera. Buck's face is buried in Davey's chest, blushing furiously, while Davey rests his head on top of Buck's, with a slight smile visible. There is golden light painted behind them and illuminating the edges of both their figures. End ID.]
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lire-casander · 3 months
Text
don't want to set the world on fire
[rating] teen and up audiences [pairing] carlos reyes/tk strand [prompt] tarlos historical au [warnings] angst with a happy ending, canonical character deaths, pearl harbor au, world war ii, grief, mourning, fluff, kissing, alternating pov
[summary] 1941. tk strand and carlos reyes arrive in hawaii ready to recover from their own, personal tragedies. what they are not expecting is to find love among war.
happy holidays, @tailoredshirt! i really hope you enjoy reading this story just as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it! 
it wouldn’t have made sense without the incredibly fast beta-reading help of @morganaspendragonss and the hand-holding offered by @moviegeek03 when i thought i couldn’t do this. 
title from the song by the ink spots, which was released in 1941.
don't want to set the world on fire 15k+ | read on ao3
March 27th, 1941
“What do you mean, you're going to Europe?” TK tries to control his voice as he chooses to ask the first of the myriad of questions that are exploding in his head.
“They need the help,” Alex explains calmly. He doesn't look TK in the eye when he continues, “That's why I enlisted.”
“You volunteered?” TK screeches, earning themselves a few glares from the other people having dinner at this fancy restaurant where he had thought about proposing to his boyfriend.
Maybe proposing isn't exactly the right word, since they can't actually get married, but TK had planned to promise forever to this man who's now telling him that he's volunteered to step into a war that doesn't even have anything to do with them.
This definitely isn't how TK had envisioned his evening going.
“Yeah,” Alex confirms in a low voice. “It's not unheard of, you know. We need to help.”
“We?” TK huffs. “It's not our war, Alex. Your selflessness is amazing, but I highly doubt that you dying for them is going to change the course of the war.”
“You can't know that,” Alex retorts. He sighs as he stretches his hand across the table to rest it on top of TK’s, but TK jerks back. “TK, please,” he tries again. “I know it's difficult to understand and almost impossible to accept, but all I'm asking of you is to respect my decision.”
“How can you ask me to respect that you want to—die for people who will never even know your name?” He tries to keep his voice steady and still low, so as to not attract any more attention upon them, but it breaks around the middle, tears threatening to fall. “Alex—”
“I'm a pilot,” his boyfriend interrupts. “That's what I am. That's the only thing I am. I know I can help. I'm going to, whether you want me to or not, but I'd hoped that you'd at least understand, what with your father being a high-up and—”
“War was what broke my parents.” It's now TK’s turn to cut the conversation off, veering it towards the pain he's feeling. “How could you think that I'd be fine knowing that you'd volunteered to die halfway across the world? When did this happen? How did I miss it?”
Alex doesn't say anything, as if sensing that TK needs to say everything that's crushing his heart.
“When?” TK asks, voice not louder than a whisper. He remembers, a second too late, the dispatch orders his father's signed this very same morning; TK was at Colonel Strand's office when a secretary came in with a stack of papers allowing American soldiers to fly out the very next morning. “Please don't say—”
“Tomorrow,” Alex says, looking down at his plate.
TK holds his breath for a few seconds, counts to five, and exhales slowly. He repeats to himself that he won't panic, that everything will be fine in the end. After seven rounds of controlled breathing, he feels confident enough to speak, even though his soul is shattered.
“Here I thought that tonight would be the first night of our whole future together…and it's actually the last night for us.”
Alex looks stricken as TK’s words seem to register. TK witnesses his boyfriend understand what his plan had been all along, as a lonely tear rolls down his cheek, as Alex wipes it away discreetly because he's a soldier and he needs to be tough, not sensitive. He looks down at his hands, balled in fists over the tablecloth, and exhales.
“Well,” Alex finally says. He reaches out to touch TK, and this time he lets Alex's fingers smooth the skin over his hands. “If this is our last night together, would you save a dance for me?”
That's what both disarms TK and breaks his heart, at the same time.
He has never been able to say no to Alex, not even once in the whole fourteen months, three weeks, five days and seventeen hours since they started dating. And yes, he's been counting—sue him.
“Of course,” TK breathes out slowly. “Wanna go to the pier after dinner?”
continue reading on ao3!
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lorcandidlucienwill · 1 month
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I’m curious bc I don’t know many anti-Azriel people on here. He def gave me the ick in the ACOSF bonus chapter but if he does have growth and we see more of the soft side of his character will you hate his book? I don’t think he “took Lucien’s traits” in HOFAS, he was shown to be really thoughtful in friendships with Nesta in ACOSF. I personally just think he’s a dumbass in relationships, with low self esteem.
But I think he’ll have growth in his book and that’s not necessarily changing his personality or making him watered down Lucien. To me they have similarities but they’re still very different, I guess I’m just curious as to whether you’ll continue to give the books a chance with his book coming up.
Hi! Thanks for the ask! This will be a little bit long so stick with me. I do believe he is exhibiting Lucien characteristics in HOFAS. More evidence: Snarking at the enemies as I mentioned previously: Lucien snarked at Amarantha. This is OOC for Azriel who went straight to choking Eris to death in the High Lord meeting for one comment. Secondly, he refused to sing for Gwyn, his mate, who he often trains with, but he sang for Bryce, a girl who he barely knows and doesn't trust at all? It doesn't make sense. Thirdly, canonically Azriel didn't even hug Feyre after she nearly died. Do you really expect me to believe he'd stroke Nesta like that? Again, Lucien in ACOWAR with Feyre. Azriel with Feyre:
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And I don't think the following scenes are just him being an idiot:
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I haven't even mentioned his treatment of Mor and Elain. Azriel is 500 years old, he should know better. His actions can't be dismissed as "he's an idiot and sad." Sure, doesn't give you an excuse to act like this. I do think that Azriel and Lucien have similar backstories while having altogether different personalities which contributes to Azriel's jealousy of Lucien: I made a post about this here: https://www.tumblr.com/lorcanisdabest/738004022330621952/azriel-is-jealous-of-lucien?source=share I can't bring myself to read Azriel's book if Lucien doesn't get his HEA first because it really doesn't feel fair. Azriel gets to bitch about not having a mating bond, say whatever he wants about Lucien, nearly choke Eris to death, creep on Elain and Mor, and immediately get his HEA with Gwyn? Lucien has been suffering with this mating bond since ACOMAF. I might read it if it comes after Lucien's book but only if Azriel acknowledges his shitty behavior and the fact that Lucien IS worthy because he has behaved inexcusably towards so many characters. I also don't want him to become sassy all of a sudden. I do believe Gwyn will bring out a different side of him but I always imagined Azriel to kind of be like a darker Lorcan so HOFAS felt like rushed characterization to me. Lorcan, as you can tell from my username, is one of my favorite characters of all time, so Azriel being similar to him is not a bad thing at all; not everyone has to be Lucien. I was actually neutral with Azriel when I finished; he was a nonentity to me. But after reading the bonus chapter and participating in a fandom that ignores all his flaws for so long, I've grown to dislike him. So he has a lot of work to do.
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blazehedgehog · 3 months
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Merry Christmas, Blaze! Hope it's been treating you well!
I can't complain! Christmas itself has been fine.
But I also don't want to be a bummer, because my feelings as of late have been very complicated. And I always strive to be honest, both with myself and others.
Increasingly, not just at Christmas, I find myself rapidly oscillating between feeling really happy and upbeat and thankful but then I come crashing down the next day.
To my knowledge I've never had a history of being bipolar or anything like that, so I'm not entirely sure what it is. Many times recently I have been reminded of the love and warmth people have for me, and I have nothing but the deepest gratitude for that.
Like, just thinking about since I opened my Throne gifts page, people have spent, like... I mean I don't even want to think about the dollar value, because it's a lot. Zelda, Sonic Superstars, Sonic Origins, Sonic Colors, the Scrooged DVD, and now Super Mario Wonder have been gifted to me this year. I'm blown away, always.
But everything is bad for everyone right now, and that includes me. And especially this year, I've done a lot of reflecting on who I am, who I want to be, and how I'm trying to become that person. In the middle of what people are calling the hardest year they've ever experienced.
And I don't just want more, I need more. Not more gifts, but more... success, I guess. More confidence. And every time I get a big burst of confidence, it's like something inside of me says "aha, no you don't. you don't deserve that."
I'm constantly at an internal war with myself on whether or not I'm being selfish, what I'm slipping on, what I'm capable of, what I need to do versus what I want to do, what feels right to me versus what other people are telling me, and what parts of my life feel like they're starting to catch up with me. It's a lot to weigh.
So right now, this Christmas has been fine. It's mostly what I expected. Like I said, I can't complain. I am satisfied. I saw some (in-laws) family, I ate good food, I gave what gifts I could and received gifts I was happy with. You can't ask for more. That's the ideal Christmas.
But I am always thinking of the bigger picture of what this year has been as a whole, and it's been a lot of extreme highs and extreme lows. Especially during the holidays, those feelings are becoming amplified and it's been very emotional and overwhelming.
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mbti-notes · 5 months
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Hello! I love your blog, thank you for spending your time sharing such thoughtful advice !
I was wondering if you have any recommendations in what to look for in a therapist (especially for XNFJS).
I’ve not quite found yet one whom I felt really heard or that actually helped me instead of congratulating me for being “too self aware”.. I know my problems but not what to do with them- instead of useless overthinking patterns.
Is that a common issue? I know how beneficial therapy can be and I suggest it to a lot of people, so it kinda feels frustrating that it doesn’t seem to work for me.
Though I have general knowledge about therapy that I picked up during my education, it isn't my area of specialization, so I can't tell you whether it's a common issue without taking a deep research dive.
1) The Relationship: The success of therapy is very much contingent upon the quality of the therapeutic relationship. It is vital to form a healthy collaborative relationship with the therapist. You must work together to figure out the problem and carry out a plan to resolve it.
Building any kind of good relationship requires some time and effort. On the client's side, there has to be a willingness to open up, explore, communicate, and cooperate. On the therapist's side, there has to be a capacity to listen, empathize, understand, hypothesize, analyze, explain, support, guide, plan, organize, and be impartial and objective. Between you, there has to be a feeling of trust, comfort, rapport, and good personality chemistry/compatibility.
Successful collaboration relies on all of the above ingredients, so if any of them are missing, you might encounter more difficulty.
2) The Purpose: It's good to enter with a clear idea of what you need and want to get out of therapy, what your goals are. What you need or want can in part be related to your personality type. For example, having high Ni and Fe might affect your relationship and communication preferences, and having low Ti and Se might affect your choice of therapist if you want them to play a role in your efforts to use those functions better.
Discussing your needs, wants, and goals at the beginning is good for setting realistic expectations and dispelling any misconceptions about what is/isn't achievable. The therapist should ask about your goals even when you don't bring them up, but it doesn't hurt to be proactive and assertive in communication. You should be able to describe your goals even if it's in very general terms. If you've already been through enough therapy to know that there's a specific form of therapy you want, ask whether the therapist is well-trained in delivering it. If they aren't, have them refer you to someone who is.
Perhaps you've experienced issues in therapy partly because you haven't been clear enough with the therapist about what you need and want. As a general rule, therapists are trained to be emotionally supportive before anything else. Many clients suffer from negativity or low self-esteem, so it's important that the therapist help the client feel better before getting into the thick of things. However, if emotional support in the form of "congratulations" is not what you really need, you have to speak up. The therapist doesn't want to be wasting time either, so help them help you by letting them know whenever they say/do something you deem unhelpful. If they are any good as a therapist, they won't be offended but rather grateful for the clarification.
Remember, in order to build a good relationship, it takes time to get to know each other. The therapist will be slow in getting to know you if you don't assert yourself and express how you really feel. NFJs tend to struggle with, perhaps they're even afraid to speak with complete honesty, so perhaps that's something you need to work on. The sooner you can get the contents of your mind out in the open for the therapist to work with, the faster the process will go for you.
3) The Issue of Self-Awareness: Too often, people don't know any better but to approach therapy as though going to the doctor's office, expecting the therapist to have a definitive answer and prescribe a cure. There is good reason for keeping the fields of psychiatry and psychology separate. You can treat a psychiatrist like a doctor because they are in fact a medical doctor, trained to deal mainly with issues based in biology. However, a therapist works differently because their focus is mainly on the mental side, meaning they must wade through your subjective experience. Dealing with the empirical facts of your biology is very different than dealing with the murky nature of your feelings.
The process of getting to the bottom of mental problems can be quite convoluted due to the subjectivity, complexity, and irrationality of human psychology. Therapy goes more smoothly the more you're able to articulate what is happening in your mind, to describe things with as much clarity and depth of detail as possible. Unfortunately, one big reason therapy is difficult is that clients have varying levels of self-awareness. Due to the way defense mechanisms operate, some people are opaque to themselves and have no idea what's really happening in their mind. They only know that they suffer, which forces the therapist into a role more akin to detective or investigator. They have to explore, probe for clues, and experiment and inch their way ever deeper into the client's mind, often meeting obstacles and resistance along the way.
Since I approach mental health from the perspective of depth psychology, I personally don't believe knowing about problems is enough to call a person self-aware. I suppose you could say that "knowing" is one level of self-awareness, but I would not qualify it as a high or deep level of self-awareness. I've already explained in a previous post the difference between knowing and understanding a problem and how knowing isn't enough.
Have you said exactly what you just said to the therapist, i.e., that you know you have a problem and what you want is to figure out why and how to resolve it? Be direct. Say exactly what you mean.
4) Exercise Your Freedom of Choice: Not every therapist out there will be a good fit, for a variety of reasons:
Therapists are human after all, so they each have their individual traits, preferences, quirks, blind spots, limitations, weaknesses, flaws, etc, that might make them incompatible with you.
There are varying levels of competency among workers in any profession, so some therapists are certainly more skilled or experienced than others with your particular problem.
Humans are diverse and suffer from a wide variety of psychological issues. There's no way for one therapist to understand them all, so they must choose a specialization. Double check that their educational background matches up with the nature of your problem, e.g., you shouldn't go to a grief counselor about an eating disorder.
Keep an open mind and grant yourself opportunity to shop around and try out many options. You ask me what to look for in a therapist and the simplest answer I can give you is to find one that is well-suited to your needs. But, going back to the earlier point, the more primary step is to be able to express what exactly it is you need.
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thevoidisvoid · 7 months
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Concept Idea Porco Rosso (Underfell and Swapfell????"
Okay, so I was watching Porco Rosso and it occured to me that it is literally the perfect movie for Underfell Red? Like smexy Skelton Pilot in a bad-ass red plane? And the dork in me exploded.
I tried to make concept art, because when I picture it, I think of a Insert-Self x Red opportunity. But in two different ways. So I got sidetracked. Didn't put a lot of effort in. I also suck at drawing Skelly-Boys so that didn't help but I decided writing it out may work better???
I hope you enjoy, and possibly get inspired. The art will be at the end.
(Version 1.)
"But the answers no, I have kind of a bet going on here."
You look down at the book in your hands that you were clutching. Smiling fondly at it. 
"I bet myself if a certain man came to visit me in my Garden, we'd fall in love…" 
You can't stop the sigh that escapes your lips.
"But the fool only comes to my restaurant at night. He…he never shows in the daylight."
Black inhaled as he prepared to speak, you froze as a familiar noise came from the distance. Standing up you shoved your book into Black's hands and rushed out of the pavilion to your balcony.
He- he's here.
That red plane you'd both come to love and despise was flying through the air. Coming straight towards you it seemed.
"THAT GUY'S BACK?!"
But as always he never landed, instead performing an aerial loop, and spinning away into the clouds… where he belonged.
Of course…it was too much to hope today was the day he'd actually…
"Stupid…"
Black shot you a quizzical look as you shook your head.
"He left without landing."
You smile.
"I lost the bet again."
"ARE YOU KIDDING? YOUR BET IS ABOUT THAT JERK?"
Your smile was more and more genuine as you spoke with a soft laugh.
"Life is more complicated here, than in your country."
"If you're only looking for a fling that's easy…"
"Go to Hollywood yourself little boy."
With another laugh you left him.
(Version 2.)
"What the HELL are you talking about? You guys don't understand a word I said!"
Red could only watch with interest as they yelled at the group of Sea Pirates. This was definitely not how he expected things to turn out.
"I asked whether you feel ashamed or not. Aren't you ashamed of being helped by Black, an American? If your mother's heard about that, they would cry."
"Also what the hell are you saying, you don't even bathe?!"
He couldn't help but chuckle at the stunned expression of those stupid bastards. 
"Red came back to fight against Black, for the pride and honor of the Pilots of Ebott Sea! 
Wait…what?!
"You guys have no guts or honor. You are the lowest of the low. Fight with dignity!"
You crossed your arms, scowling at Undyne. Red could tell she'd been rather stunned by your push back.
"Well that's why I was opposed to hiring Black in the first place."
Yeah right…
"Coward. Trying to worm your way out of this."
"B-Boss what should we do? They have a convincing argument."
"We'll need to preserve both sides honor…we'll have to ask Black."
"You mean ask him to fight the SKELETON- Again?"
Oh the irony. These idiots seemed to miss the fact Black was also a Skeleton. 
"The contract is already over…I'm so ashamed."
Undyne seemed really distraught. Which was well deserved. And now to wrap things up here-
"MWEHEHEHEH."
Oh great.
"It's Black!"
High above, in a gap carved into the cliffs Black stood (?) His arms and legs pressing against the walls of the cliff. Keeping him held in place.
"I HEARD YOU TALKING. I'M NOT GOING TO RUN AWAY!"
"you morons, you came down through there?"
Black gave a yell before leaping from his position in the cliffs and plummeted before landing firmly on his feet. He almost stumbled, but firmly continued walking as if he was a damn god.
"hey, hold this-"
Red shoved his bag of various items into the arms of one of the pirates and began moving towards Black.
"YOU WANT A REMATCH DON'T YOU. BUT I ALREADY WON ONCE."
He was going to wipe that pathetic smirk off his face.
"I'M NO LONGER A BODY GUARD FOR THESE GUYS."
All the more reason to beat-
"You mean you won't fight for free? What's your proposition?"
Oh no-
You had made your way to the front of the small mob of pirates and were glowering at Black. Who took one look at you before-
"T-THEY'RE BEAUTIFUL."
He clasped your hands, and you gave a small noise of disgusted surprise.
"WILL YOU MARRY ME IF I WIN? I'M SERIOUS."
Ha! As if they'd give in to-
"Okay- but if Red wins you pay these bills!'
You somehow managed to slap Black in the face with that notebook of yours. A small distraction that kept him from completely losing it.
"wait-"
"Back off you!"
Aaron shoved Red backwards and he was immediately surrounded by a mixture of weapons and magic attacks. Something he could've easily escaped. But he didn't.
"You still have time to think about this."
Undyne sounded rather gentle for once, and Red eyed her suspiciously.
"Ask him, not me."
"THESE BILLS ARE A LITTLE EXPENSIVE."
"They're extremely reasonable"
"Are you going to fight or not Black?"
Undyne almost seemed to be trying to prevent this, which was an abrupt change from before.
"I'LL GLADLY FIGHT FOR THE ONE I LOVE."
"Okay everybody listen up!"
Undyne's yell echoed through the island, almost as loud as that insufferable Black's.
"I'm very impressed with the humans determination! My group will back this fight up!"
A chorus of agreements.
"The air pirate alliance will too!"
"Bye Human!!! See you soon!"
"they're full of crap."
"HEY SKELETON, DON'T RUN AWAY."
"shut up, and get off my island!"
"Later!"
As quickly as they'd exploded onto the small island they vanished, Black following on top of the crowd.
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ladyyatexel · 10 months
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Still absolutely no word on whether I will still have a job after Friday! 🌈🙃
To be honest I got a little bit overconfident and I thought my manager would definitely convince her boss to keep me and so I do not have another mini job lined up for if this just terminates. My confidence level that they would give in and keep me was quite high and I frankly just did not want to contemplate a reality where I had to go back to job searching after being very lucky and comfortable for 6 months at a job that is extremely close to where I live and pays better than my last one.
I also actually really like everyone and would be kind of sad to leave them.
I am also also going to really miss buying items if they do not keep me, damn. Turns out I really like items and clothes that don't make me feel bad about myself and like, some brand name foods, and being able to support other artists and shit.
I was going to get a new mattress but that might have to wait until something is secured more permanently.
I can't tell if I'm anxious about this or not. I feel like I don't feel anything at all about it and I'm just ignoring reality occurring again in order to minimize damage haha. Expectations are being kept extremely low perhaps plus the combination of having been through an extremely difficult two years and thinking that really nothing could be as bad as that was?
Something like that! At least I can walk again! Nothing's going to be as bad as not being able to do that was. 👍
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kimbap-r0ll · 2 years
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Hii kimbaaap, me 🍮 again. I'd like to know your opinions about each of the troupe members morality. As in how inhumane they are, how bad could they get as a person. What I've seen from Japanese fans, the one that are considered as "lacking in morals" are, not in any order: Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, and Shalnark. Where from high to low for the mooncake trio: Phinks > Shalnark > Feitan (obviously). Tell me what you think 🥺
Hello! This is an interesting ask, thank you!
Before I start, I just want to say that it's fine to like the Phantom Troupe and hate what they have done. I know some people have different opinions on whether or not to like characters like this, but it's all fiction, so no big worries here.
The entire Phantom Troupe definitely has questionable morals, but what I noticed with a lot of Chrollo interpretations is that he isn't as bad as I thought he would be. There's x reader stories where he's pretty soft, even I'm guilty of this haha. But I feel like I agree with the Japanese fans in saying Chrollo is definitely one of the most inhumane. I try my best to show this when writing, sort of like how even if y/n is a Kurta, no matter how much he may have loved them, the minute he realizes who they really are it's sort of like "ah, I could kill more and earn more from it," sort of idea. It's horrible, but I can't see this man being soft in reality. This is unless he really cares for someone, but even then it can be unhealthy. For example, if you say you don't like someone and you wish they would get hurt, you will see them hurt. If you ask him why he did that, he'll just quote you and expect you to be happy with it. Also expect to live by Meteor City rules! I have this whole Meteor City idea that ties with the Phantom Troupe, and most of the actions Chrollo does has to do with it. Most of it is also immoral to many countries and most people, but Meteor City runs with different rules so Chrollo doesn't think it's bad.
Then with the others that lack morals, like Feitan, Phinks and Shalnark, I feel like this is definitely true. Phinks is more or less of the brute in the group, sort of like Uvo, while Feitan is a literal torturer. Shalnark considers people as his toys or devices, thus being pretty immoral. Uvo might be added here because of how he likes to challenge people into death battles, but it's not as bad as Hisoka.
Either way, this was super fun to think about. I want to write more dark fics for Chrollo or maybe dive a bit deeper into Kurta/Meteor City stuff. Thank you once again!
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keyframemarcy · 1 year
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Mass Effect Character Ranking Round 2
I have returned from the mines, once again tempted by the siren song of sorting.
Just finished Mass Effect 2, here's what I thought of the crew:
Mordin - This may be suprising, especially to me when I started the game. Learning that he created the Genophage I was ready to blow this guy out the airlock when he didn't show any remorse. But to the writing's credit, he has the best loyalty mission in the game. Overall the writing left me feeling pretty hollow in this game, but getting to repeatedly challenge him on his choices and whether there really was no other way to stop the Krogans was one of the rare times I was glued to my seat. He's a nuanced character, and more than anyone else I'm excited to see where the next game takes him.
Thane - After Kaidan unceremoniously dumped me (dude) I was left in need of a new bae. Lo and behold, hot lizard man. He hit me right in the tragic backstory feels, and there's something very fitting for me matching him with femshep. They just have similar energy. I also loved talking to him about the literal disconnect between his body and mind. That's the weird alien shit I'm here for in sci-fi. Also that VOICE.
Tali - Still best girl. I like her growth in this game post-pilgrimage. She feels all grown up while still being adorably dorky. Her loyalty mission was also really good, I'm excited to see what happens with the Quarians in the next game.
Legion - A late addition, but SUPER intriguing. I didn't really expect the Geth to be much more than random enemies to fight on missions, so I'm glad they're here as this cool hive mind. Again, invested to see where they go in Mass Effect 3. Which in a game that bored me a lot of the time is high praise.
Samara - All the stuff with the Justicars is interesting, and her backstory was pretty cool. Please stop giving all your female characters one body type.
Miranda - Boring at first, but I like helping her reconnect with her sister and her telling the Illusive man to fuck off at the end. Why is she dressed like that.
Garrus - The fandom is going to flay me alive for putting him this low again, but I just can't get behind his continued cop personality. His loyalty mission is a classic noir-type story which was cool, but although I was able to convince him revenge isn't the answer, I already did that in the first game and I'm worried that I'm in for round 3. Voice is still hot.
Kasumi - Just a little gremlin. Considering no one else dresses like her in the franchise, I can only conclude she's a freak which is very endearing.
Jack - I want to like her, but every line of dialogue SCREAMS "I was written by a 30 something man who's never talked to a woman in his life." Why is she dressed like that!
Grunt - Wasn't very grabbed by him as a character. The best part of his loyalty mission was seeing Wrex again. I mostly just miss Wrex.
Jacob - Everyone told me he was boring and that I'd never want to bring him on missions. They were right.
Zaeed - Why are you here?
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Okay, so small thoughts on 1 and 2. Under read more in case you don't wanna see negative shit
As you can probably tell, I'm a little disappointed. However, I was not surprised, since I already kept my expectations pretty low
My main gripe is that it's just like Rick and Morty: it doesn't know whether it wants to be episodic or not
Clearly we have some plot progressions happening, with guillermo finally being a vampire/human hybrid. But then it just feels like it's all wrapped up in a season, and you don't know whether they're going to mention it again, which is really tiring as a viewer
When the shows has highs, it has some highs - mostly in the joke department. But then you get things you can't really look over, like guillermo just going back to his familiar duties and the entire year time jump
Again, I don't know whether they'll bring up any of it again this season. I hope so, if only for Laszlo to mention Baby Colin. So all I'm left with is trying to figure out whether the characters motivations are from the current happenings or the past season. It's obvious in some parts, like Nadja still mourning the nightclub. But then I just have to assume Laszlo creating a new comradery with guillermo is cause of baby colin!! Cause rn they're not giving me anything!!!
Yeah yeah meta and subtext and shit, but the show has not given me enough trust to know if they're actually operating with subtext cause maybe they'll not mention it until seven eps later or just completely forget about its own goddamn canon because LASZLO IS CANONICALLY THE BETTER HYPNOTIST THAN NANDOR!!!!!! IS HE JUST SAYING THAT TO LIFT UP NANDORS SPIRIT????? I DONT KNOW AND ITS NO LONGER FUN FOR ME TO FIGURE OUT THE META CAUSE WHAT IF THE WRITERS JUST DIDN'T CARE TO WATCH S1 LIKE THE FUCKING STRANGER THINGS CREATORS
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